


Dreams and Nightmares

by Taera



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Blood, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Character Death, Character Turned Into a Ghost, Dark-ish, Familiars, Gen, M/M, Major Character Injury, Minor Character Death, Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Possibly Pre-Slash, Sort Of, Vampires, Violence, Well - Freeform, human!Jonathan, some true pre-slash here, vampire!Geoffrey
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:34:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 30,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26240452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taera/pseuds/Taera
Summary: This is a collection of short stories, main theme of which is McReid in different variations.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum & Jonathan Reid, Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 82
Kudos: 83





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

> This is what I do instead of going to sleep before 11pm /sigh/
> 
> Okay, so this is a little experiment I'm doing to get me back into writing. Hopefully, it'll work.  
> In a nutshell: I'll write something small every day for the rest of September. The theme I'm going for is "everything McReid", so if you have an idea you'd like me to write, feel free to throw it at me (because of course I've decided to do this without actually thinking about what I'll be writing, except that "McReid!" in my head).

The Hunt is forever in his blood. It's now a part of him, as inseparable as his own limbs. He's running, following the clues, alert and aware of every mortal around him, all safely behind closed doors and shut windows, inside the comfort of their homes.

He runs forward.

He has a prey to catch.

When the path of bloody droplets brings him to the posh house, one of many in this part of town, Geoffrey snorts; he should've known it would be it. Jonathan had always led him home every time he felt especially lonely.

As if it isn't enough they are inside each other's heads already and could see everything the other saw. If he closes his eyes, he sees a sea of red and feels the _thirst_ , gnawing at his insides like a mad starving animal.

Swallowing, he growls, looks up at the silvery clouds overhead and the rare pinpoint of a star. It should be cold here on the roof, it should be impossible for him to cling to the wet tiles.

He jumps silently forward and down. The door isn't even locked.

The bastard wants to get killed? Why would he make it so easy for his hunter?

Geoffrey only has time to inhale the smell of ink, books, blood and chemicals before the shadows shoot out from the corners to catch him. He jumps aside, hones in on the source of the magic and _pulls_. With a startled laugh Jonathan stumbles out of the dark, bright eyes glowing ethereal red-blue in the near-extinct light. His teeth glint wetly as he smiles.

"You took your time, hunter."

"And you couldn't find a better place. Again." Geoffrey comes closer on silent feet. Thirst flares inside, painting the world into abysmal black and seductive red.

"How inconsiderate of me, not wanting to spend time with mine in some abandoned hovel or a dirty back alley."

They collide in the air, both have jumped at the same time. Shadows hug them, make room for them, allow them to fight without fear of breaking anything. Not that Geoffrey would've minded splintering a chair or seven; he liked inflicting damage. There's no up or down in this state of nothingness that envelops them, no left or right, nothing but the freedom to move and the _other_ to battle against, to make him surrender.

How long it continues, Geoffrey cannot tell. He doesn't want to. Yet, he still knows how many hours exactly he has left before dawn claims his mind. It's a lot closer to that point when they finally disentangle from each other and drop in the middle of some other dark room with a thick carpet to soften the fall. Geoffrey lands atop Jonathan and squeezes his thighs with his knees, ready to fight to remain on top.

Sharp nails scratch at his sides, making him hiss. He answers with a tug to Jonathan's shirt, sending several of the buttons flying. When the man looks up at him disapprovingly, Geoffrey simply smiles defiantly and bends down to lave at the skin with his tongue, to taste the tingling sensation of another's magic, so close to the skin. Droplets of blood tickle down his own sides, staining the fabric. Jonathan grips him with wet fingers, the smell of blood quickly filling the air, making it hard to breathe. When Geoffrey bites at his pectoral, drawing a bit of red (warm and spicy and enticing), Jonathan arches his back and groans, the sound gravelly and reverberating deep in his chest.

And then he surges upward, janks Geoffrey by the collar of his shirt and catches his lips in a bruising kiss, all hungry tongue and sharp teeth. Geoffrey gives as much as he gets, high on the fleeting taste of his Maker, aching for more. Their mixed blood stains both their mouths when Geoffrey pulls away to continue exploring the pale swathes of skin. Jonathan squirms and gets in the way, chuckling in answer to his growls.

"What, did you expect me to lie back and let you do whatever you wanted?" the tone is mocking, husky with desire.

"Would have been nice for a change," Geoffrey snipes back.

Jonathan entangles their legs and grabs him by his shoulder, sinking claws into his side again; it all happens very fast- not so fast that he couldn't do anything, but the sharp sting shoots up from the claws and from the short bite to his lips, and it's so _good_. Geoffrey lets Jonathan turn them over. Of course, he doesn't make it any easier after that.

They roll all over the floor after that, exchanging blows and jibes and stinging comments, and somehow end up with Geoffrey pressing Jonathan to a wall between some bookcase and a little table with a vase on it. The vase falls to the floor soon thereafter, shattering loudly. Neither of them pays to it any attention, too busy groping and biting, and kissing, and groaning into the heady taste.

As Geoffrey drops to his knees, Jonathan actually freezes in place, looking intently down at him. Smears of blood almost glow red on his chin, lips and cheeks.

"Are you sure?"

Geoffrey huffs an irritated breath: "If I weren't, I wouldn't be kneeling here, leech. Now shut up before I change my mind."

One of the perks of being in the head of one another: he can feel almost everything Jonathan feels. If he were still human, this kind of relationship would've turned his stomach. But there is something inside Jonathan's blood that makes it _sing_. Makes Geoffrey crave it. Crave Jonathan.

He licks at the cock before him, holding it near the base with one hand and pressing Jonathan's thigh to the wall with the other. Geoffrey stopped wondering how vampires could even have hard-ons a long time ago; he knows what to do, that's what matters. He dives into the task at hand, relishing the groans Jonathan can't seem to hold in, his thighs twitching and pushing to meet him, his hands roaming over Geoffrey's hair and shoulders.

It's tricky when his fangs are out, but then again- he doesn't have to worry about wounding his partner. If anything, the sting of pierced flesh is what makes Jonathan shudder the most. Geoffrey groans, licks up the blood. He feels drunk. He feels happy.

When Jonathan tugs at his hair, he goes up with the pull.


	2. Two - The Red Son, 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a major character injury in here. Please be careful and if something like this triggers you, then skip reading this one.

Jonathan knew it the moment it happened. The sharp, piercing agony exploded like a supernova behind his eyelids. He stumbled, grasped for anything to keep him upright; on unsteady feet, he reached the nearest wall and leaned against it, breathing hard and barely keeping whimpers within.

His soulmate…

Oh  _ God _ … he…

Concentrating on the link between them, Jonathan tried to feel  _ anything _ behind the pain of broken bones and torn flesh, but there was so much interference he just  _ couldn't do it _ .

"Master Reid? Are you alright?"

Frowning, he inhaled and looked at the woman. She met his gaze with clear concern in her own eyes, flinching only a little from what she saw on his face. She grew paler.

Bright agony of the torn link pulsated in his chest and head, painted the world in red. The beast clawed from its corner deep down, howling and demanding to break free and run save their soulmate. Jonathan gritted his teeth. His fangs were protruding more and more.

The woman- Agatha took a step back. And her shock was understandable, because it was the first time in many years when she saw Jonathan so close to completely losing his control. He narrowed his eyes, looking her over.

Was it worth it? With so much fresh blood he would surely be able to find whoever hurt his soulmate and make them suffer, but…

_ Was it really worth it _ ? He'd spent countless months resisting his baser urges and keeping the monster on a tight leash. All of that with Geoffrey's help; truly, if they hadn't met that fateful night in the hospital, Jonathan would've fallen long time ago.

And now his soulmate was-

No.

No, he wouldn't betray his memory. He will  _ not _ betray his trust.

Closing his eyes, Jonathan exhaled and stopped breathing to lessen the temptation of warm blood, so close and ready to be taken.

"Go. And  _ don't _ run." When he still didn't hear her walking away, he ordered: " _ Go, Agatha.  _ Get to your room and keep the door locked until sunrise."

Her steps were a bit slow, almost reluctant, but she obeyed. He knew that if she truly put her mind to it, she could resist his mesmerism, and he was grateful she decided not to do it right now.

Just as he started to believe the agony would never cease tormenting him, the link flared even brighter. It felt just like sunlight hitting his skin, only  _ everywhere _ , inside included. White hot, so  _ white _ . When Jonathan came back to his senses, he was lying on the floor, half-curled and scratching grooves into the wood beneath.

And then...

_ Jon? _

It was so weak, barely audible under all the pain and burning, but it was  _ there _ . Geoffrey's voice.

He was  _ alive _ !

When Jonathan finally got to where his soulmate was, at first he couldn't comprehend what he was seeing. He knew massacre, he knew how savage wild Skals and Vulkods were, how prone to violence. But here…

Here he saw mountains of corpses.  _ Literally _ ; the mounds were higher than him, and he was not a little man. Some bodies were torn to shreds, others were almost whole except for the missing head or a dark wound over their hearts. The acrid smell of blood enveloped Jonathan, both turning his stomach and making him salivate like some  _ animal _ .

Then something hit him from behind, and he didn't have time to look around and think anymore. Smelling Geoffrey's blood on its breath, Jonathan growled at the Ekon. The leech was pale, his clothes torn and bloodied beyond recognition, his eyes red and dangerous. Jonathan didn't really have time to prepare, because, truth be told, at this point there wasn't anything that could pose a real threat to him. Even this wanna-be dragon was just… too weak. Jonathan felt his bloodline, and he knew it wasn't anything special. The blood inside the bastard wasn't that thick, either.

No wonder the Ekon chose to use lesser brethren in the fight.

Jonathan let the beast inside him do what it wanted with the leech. The fight didn't last even five minutes.

But when he finally found Geoffrey, he wished he didn't kill him so quickly. He wanted that Ekon to  _ suffer _ .

It was a miracle his soulmate was even alive: his body looked like it went through a grinder and then got tossed around for good measure. God, his right arm was completely  _ torn off _ . Half his face gone, only one eye showing a sliver of electric blue, the other lost in the red mess. The wounds on the neck were a clear sign that the Ekon didn't pass on the chance to drink strong blood.

Dropping to his knees, Jonathan tore at his wrist and placed the open vein over Geofrey's mouth, letting the stream of red fall onto chapped lips. At first, nothing happened; then, a breath. Weak, more like a gasp. Jonathan whimpered in sympathy, keeping their link wide open, shouldering part of the pain his soulmate was feeling. When he saw the regeneration finally kicking in, he went to look around for the arm, but he couldn't find it.

_ Jon _

"I'm here, love," leaving the search, he returned to Geoffrey and kneeled beside him once more. "I'm here." The torn shoulder was already scabbing over. But to regrow the whole limb, he would need a  _ lot _ of blood.

Brushing away sticky hair away from Geoffrey's face, Jonathan came to a decision. He didn't protest when his soulmate told him he didn't want to publicly announce their link, hell, he didn't even know how Geoffrey managed to fake being human for so long, but this wound put an end to this pretense.

The estate was still buzzing with the news even months after Geoffrey became a constant there. After all, it wasn't every century that a famous, most successful and dangerous vampire hunter would end up being a soulmate to the Red Son himself. Jonathan received a plethora of letters, ranging from pleading and offers to trade and up to open threats. He ignored them all. But Geoffrey found reading them entertaining, and that was the only reason Agatha didn't burn them the moment they came.

Weeks went by and he gave his blood to Geoffrey almost every day, but the progress was minimal: his head healed alright, as did his body. Everything healed, except the missing arm. It didn't even look like it was preparing to grow.

They both were starting to despair, and Jonathan understood why Geoffrey still moved as if the arm was there, but… wasn't it time already to look at the dark possibility head-on? He didn't want to fight his soulmate, but it was excruciating to watch as he went about his day, ignoring his injury and at the same time painfully aware of it.

In the end, Geoffrey ordered a prosthetic arm through one of his numerous contacts. It couldn't move on its own like others did on humans, but Geoffrey was adamant on learning how to apply their magic to simulate the signals. Or how to move it in any other way, really.

And Jonathan was going to help him on every step of the way.


	3. Three - The Sword, 1

"How much do you want for it?" the predatory glint of the blade kept his eyes glued to the sword. Even simply lying there it looked… dangerous. As if daring anyone to try and use it, promising stinging bites and quick death.

The merchant smiled and made a wide, theatrical gesture at the sword in the bone scabbard.

"Oh, 'tis not a mere sword, my good lord! 'Tis the legendary Demon Slayer, the one and only blade to drink the blood of a thousand ugly creatures!"

Jonathan frowned, not wanting to listen to yet another fairytale these dark people so loved spinning around gullible bystanders. He interrupted: "How. Much?"

The smile didn't falter. White teeth on dark leathery skin glowed in the dusk.

"Five hundred stones, my good lord. Mere five hundred for a Legend!"

The price was surprisingly low indeed. Suspiciously low, even. But Jonathan could almost feel the pull, the urge to take the worn handle in his hand and-

He shook himself out of the reverie. Tearing his eyes away was almost painful. Was this some kind of magic? There wasn't really time to think; soon the sun will sink and the world will change, and if he wanted to get this sword, he had to decide _now_. Was he willing to risk the unknown danger, the reason why this old and sly merchant was trying to get rid of his wonderful legend so much he was willing to throw it away at the first person he met for a handful of stones?

Jonathan faintly heard someone laughing nastily. He looked around, but didn't see anyone interested in his dealings with the dark man.

Definitely magic.

The pull was impossible to resist.

Fishing out the five blue stones from the pouch, Jonathan gave them to the merchant and took the sword before the man could think of touching it. A surge of power immediately flowed up his arm, making the hairs stand up.

Oh, this definitely was no ordinary blade.

Jonathan startled and looked around; swirling shadows covered everything, leaving only a small circle of bare stones for them to stand in. The man- the _creature_ that looked like a man stood before him with arms crossed over his chest. He looked like a warrior: broad shoulders, square jaw, short messy hair, long coat over the leather armor. His eyes were sapphire blue with narrow vertical slits for pupils.

He sneered: "What, you've got seduced by the tales of grandeur and thousands of slain demons, too?"

"What? Who are you? And… _where are we_?"

"Ah, so you're the innocently stupid one, then." The man grumbled. "Congratulations, you're a happy owner of a cursed sword now. You are an idiot."

"It's Jonathan." When the man simply stared at him with those strangely captivating eyes, Jonathan shrugged. "If we're having a conversation, we might as well call each other by our names."

The creature- the _man_ groaned and swiped a hand over his face: "White Flame preserve me, I've got a toddler for a handler. Don't you know that names have _power_? And you've given me yours just like that. Aren't you afraid I will invade your mind and take your body?"

Somehow, upon hearing those words Jonathan thought about something very different from what the man was talking about. He doubted he would like it, though, so the images got hurriedly trampled over.

"You could try, of course. But I'm not sure you would succeed."

There was no warning. One moment, the man was standing several steps away, the next, he was on Jonathan, kicking him in the guts. They tumbled to the ground and rolled, exchanging blows and Jonathan could feel the magic gathering around deep in his bones. Like the air that got charged before the storm.

He felt truly alive for the first time in too many years. Laughing, Jonathan let his shadows loose; the other man immediately jumped back, blurring with the sudden movement.

"You're a demon!" The accusing tone was unexpectedly painful to hear. How did he manage to get attached to this creature already?

Jonathan sat up, and looked at the standing warrior, feeling a bit sheepish. "I'm not. Not really. I'm half-blood."

Metal sang, slicing through the air; it wasn't even that surprising that the man managed to call on the exact replica of the sword Jonathan bought not two hours ago. And now he was pointing it at Jonathan, fury clearly visible on his face. "Half-bloods don't have these kinds of powers, you lying bastard!"

Sighing, Jonathan slowly got up, eyeing the blade and aware that any sudden movement might trigger a vicious attack. "I'm telling the truth. Would you like to look for yourself?" he spread his arms.

The man's eyes bulged. He sputtered. The sword shook a little. "First, you give me your name, now you offer me your blood. What's next, your heart, soul and everlasting love?"

Jonathan couldn't keep the laugh down. Somewhere deep down he suspected that this creature just might be right after all.


	4. Four

Feeling the sharp pain of the bite, Geoffrey understood that this was the end. He'd lost to this damned beast. He'd been too stupid, too blind to see beyond the mask. He thought that he was harsh enough, rigid enough; yet, he let himself grow lenient after this leech spared his life. And look where it got him.

This bastard killed  _ everyone _ he knew, killed every last member of Priwen in London!

Fuck, Reid was killing Geoffrey  _ right this very moment _ . And he was not in any condition to resist anymore, both his arms broken in several places, snapped ribs puncturing his lungs and making it hard to breathe. It hurt like  _ hell _ .

And the worst thing? The worst thing was that he hadn't managed to kill this monster. That he was leaving this world without finishing his only job.

_ He still had so much to do _ .

There was no tunnel with a light at the end. Well, more correctly would be to say there was  _ a _ tunnel: it looked just like one of the many that were worming through the earth under London. It even looked a bit familiar.

Just his luck, even after death being stuck in the damned sewers.

Huffing out a breath, Geoffrey walked towards what he hoped would be an exit; if this place was identical to the real one, then- yes, there was the door. It wasn't even closed.

Except, when Geoffrey tried shoving it open, his hand went right through the metal, and he stumbled forward, immediately losing his balance. As he sprawled on the concrete, he felt…  _ something _ , though definitely not pain. It was more of a… pressure?

"What the hell?" grumbling under his breath, he sat up and looked at the treacherous door. It didn't move an inch. And he fell through it. Through the narrowly placed bars of solid metal.

What the hell was he now? Was he in Purgatory? Then why the hell was it looking so much like London? Oh God, what should he do now?

Feeling panic closing in on him, Geoffrey tried taking several calming breaths, but the complete lack of any smells (and he  _ was _ standing right on the Thames' waterfront, there  _ must _ have been smells all around here) threw him off. Tthe world blurred, weightlessness taking over and he was floating  _ up _ , his feet lost any contact with blessedly solid earth. For some time, he couldn't tell how long exactly, he was completely and utterly lost.

Then, a sharp wail of pain shot right through him, flaring up his instincts. And, as sudden as that, he was back on the ground and feeling its pull, in no danger of floating up any more. Great. He didn't have time losing his shit when there was someone in trouble. Considering the hour, it was a good chance that a leech was responsible, and Geoffrey was adamant on doing his job even here.

After all, all of his weapons were with him, so he could as well take this as a sign.

Navigating the streets was… strange. He, somehow, at the same time didn't have any inertia whatsoever and still couldn't make too sharp turns, skidding over the flagstones. And no echoes of his steps reflected from the building around. It was fucking eerie.

Seeing a familiar figure holding some poor bastard, Geoffrey growled. Hate  _ flared _ inside him, sending jolts of power down his limbs, making him move  _ faster _ . He will  _ kill _ the bastard!

The sword felt wonderfully heavy in his arm, the swing good and  _ right _ , landing right onto Reid's back. The coat remained intact, and for a moment Geoffrey was terrified he wouldn't be able to do anything, but then the leech jolted and melted into a burst of shadows, jumping to the side. His victim groaned weakly and tumbled to the ground. At least the man was still alive.

Reid's eyes were even darker than Geoffrey remembered. Before they were already red and with vertical slits for the pupils, but now… now they looked like two windows to the raging fires of hell. Geoffrey sneered when the beast finally noticed him and widened its eyes in shock.

A moment later, a spear of blood was already flying towards Geoffrey. He tried jumping to the side, but the ground stopped pulling him in the most unfortunate moment possible. He threw his arms in front of him in a futile attempt to shield against the beast's attack - the very same that broke his ribs - but, again, he felt… well, he  _ didn't _ feel the excruciating pain of the infused blood tearing at his flesh and bones, instead it was more like a rough shove of a strong blast of wind. It pushed Geoffrey back for several feet.

Concentrating on the memory of how gravity locked him to the ground, Geoffrey returned the contact with the earth. Oh, he was starting to get the hang of it.

"Now we dance,  _ beast _ ," Geoffrey gripped the sword tighter and attacked again. And once more the blade had found its mark but left the clothes intact.

The leech hissed and tried freezing him, but there was no blood inside Geoffrey for its magic to work on. He had no flesh for its claws and fangs to sink into. He had hatred infusing him with power to hit the beast. His blade came away bloody, the red hissing and evaporating, as if the sword was burning hot.

When Reid realised he couldn't do anything to Geoffrey while Geoffrey could hurt him, he melted into shadows, fleeing. Geoffrey lost him, but there was a trail of darkness hanging in the air like some cursed mist, and it showed clearly enough where the beast had gone.

Geoffrey looked up at the second-floor balcony, where the trail shot in a straight line over the street to another balcony, even higher still. He concentrated on the place where he wanted to go, and then  _ pushed away _ from the ground. The first jump was awkward and unsteady, but Geoffrey was quickly getting used to it.

He had a job to finish, and a complete lack of physical feedback from the world wasn't reason enough to back down.

He was on the Hunt.


	5. Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh dear, this one suddenly took a sharp turn into the land of psychological rape and I just couldn't continue writing it.

At first, he didn't like the idea of experimenting at all, especially of experiments on each other that Edgar proposed. He was always a little too eager to learn about their nature and didn't really consider how this could influence others in his care. But it should be said that Edgar was a _wonderful_ scientist, always full of ideas and plans. Jonathan could see why this man was so crucial to Pembroke's survival.

But as the months went by, he started to see _why_ his Progeny was so fascinated by all this. So much to learn, so much to understand. And when the only way to get the information needed was to do it himself? Oh, this was all for science. And anyway, Edgar volunteered. Jonathan asked him before starting every experiment, and every time the man was eager and excited, so it wasn't too surprising when at some point Jonathan simply… stopped asking. He knew the answer anyway, so why bother?

When they started working with mesmerism, Jonathan grew acutely aware of how easy it was for him to push Edgar's mind into a tiny corner and take full control over his body. He could freeze him to the spot, he could walk him into the blinding daylight, he could make him bite anyone and anything, even the rats he so despised.

It all was so _fascinating_ , and Jonathan simply _had_ to verify whether or not he had this amount of control over all of his Progenies.

And although he had a rough idea of where Geoffrey was at the moment, finding the hunter was another matter. After all, he knew how to hunt and he knew what to do to make hunting _him_ as hard as possible. Even with the link between them, Jonathan had spent several months tracking him down.

He really tried explaining what he wanted to do. It wasn't like he would hurt him or anything, after all. Why would he want to hurt his own Progeny? Still, Geoffrey refused, calling him a monster and even attacking him! Jonathan tried ordering him to stop; with Edgar, it worked perfectly, but then again, it was impossible, really, to compare Edgar and Geoffrey. It was the very reason why he set out to do this.

Geoffrey resisted the order.

Jonathan couldn't make him stand still, nor could he push even through the outer layers of the man's mental shields. Oh, he was _beautiful_. Jonathan was so looking forward to finding the right amount of pressure. First of all, he had to make Geoffrey see reason and cooperate; and if he insisted on refusing his request, there was always an option to do what he needed to do by force. The results, of course, would be a bit skewed, but oh well.

If there was no other way…

One night, Jonathan realised something. Those bright blue eyes, so alive and piercing, had dulled, lost their spark. But why, he couldn't understand; he gave Geoffrey everything he might've ever needed to feel comfortable, he gave him his own blood almost every night, even.

But, at least, now it was quite easy to make him do whatever Jonathan wanted.

He sighed and looked Geoffrey over, feeling uncomfortable twinges of melancholy. Somehow, somewhere, he took the wrong turn, and now he didn't have a slightest idea how to make things right again.


	6. Six - The Flash, 1

Geoffrey looked at Talltree across the table and barely held himself from growling at the man. He was always insufferable, but after the Flash it became even worse. Especially because Geoffrey didn't have any other choice but to work with him.

"Well?"

"Patience, McCullum," Talltree sounded exasperated, his dark hands shivering a little as they shuffled the cards. From the cold, maybe? No, it wasn't that cold in here. But it was easy to think of another reason. All of them had enough reasons to become completely unhinged, now, what with the world in the agonised throes of death.

Geoffrey remembered what happened a week ago and frowned; not the sight to inspire hope in the undertaking he was about to participate in. Too risky. Too insane. Yet, what other choice did he have? If he didn't do  _ anything _ , the world would drown in blood and madness.

Nothing gave any sign that anything changed, but Geoffrey  _ felt _ it. He immediately got to his feet and turned to the darkest corner of the dim room, frowning. Familiar shape stepped out: pure darkness, swirling and stitching together into fancy clothes and pale face, gaunt as if he starved for several months.

One of his eyes was piercing pale blue with a tiny dot of a pupil, the other: bloody-red with a vertical slit amidst total blackness.

Geoffrey suppressed a shudder, knowing all too well what this man was up to after the Flash. He knew Reid was trying to help once again, but by God it was taking its toll. And considering the situation they were in, it was only a matter of time before someone snapped.

"You're late."

"My apologies," Reid's voice was strangely hollow and echoey, smooth as a piece of marble, and just as cold, "I was held up at the bridge."

The fucking bridge. A deathtrap for mere humans, now. Geoffrey hated it, but mortals had to rely on the very creatures that hunted them to survive.

"Gentlemen, the dawn is near."

"And whose fault is that?" Geoffrey immediately bristled. It took him a couple of seconds to calm down; now was not the time to pick a fight. After all, they really were on the clock. "Come on, Reid. We have a world to save, so stop loitering around." Hoisting up his backpack, Geoffrey went to the hatch in the farther parth of the basement.

"Indeed."

Dammit, and they were in the same room just for a minute or too. He had a looong road ahead.

As per their agreement, he gave Reid one mouthful of blood every three days. Geoffrey had been bitten by enough leeches to know there's nothing pleasant about it, nothing to romanticise and sing songs to. It was just a bite, vicious and poisonous.

But, somehow, when Reid did it, it felt different. As if he was catching echoes of what the leech was experiencing while tasting his blood. It was sickly sweet and heady, it made his heart thrum in his chest. He was disgusted with himself. And growing more scared of Reid, if he was completely honest. The man was a fucking death incarnate. Sometimes Geoffrey even thought that Reid was showing off intentionally. Anyway, he wouldn't be surprised if that were the case.

But. It was one thing to fight against the creature and know it's a bloody monster, deserving only of a stake to its heart, and totally another - to be forced to rely on the very same creature he once swore to eradicate from this world. Oh, Geoffrey didn't miss the irony. Still, those fucking eyes were  _ unnerving _ .


	7. Seven - The Flash, 2

Geoffrey hated it when his plans didn't go well, but at least this time it wasn't the "All was for naught", but "You came here, now you must go there" kind of problem. It wasn't even a problem, exactly. Without visiting the Stonehenge he wouldn't have learned about that Aether guy up North. Whatever this Aether was anyway. Some kind of magic, most likely, one of many that sprouted all over after the Flash.

_And_ , now that the ruptures stopped tearing up the reality, they had time to relax and breathe, confident the world wouldn't crash down if they spent several days in one place and not running around in a search for how to rescue the world. Well, Geoffrey didn't know about Jonathan, but he definitely wanted to rest. Needed it, even. He felt so rugged and tired, oh God, he wasn't that tired even in the middle of the flu epidemic, when he was sleeping just a couple of hours a day for long weeks.

What he didn't take into account was the fact that he'd still have to give Jonathan his blood, and that he'd still...  _ react _ to the bite.

Swallowing a groan, Geoffrey tried to take his arm away, but Jonathan held onto it and continued to lick around the wound with slow and careful swipes. Somehow, his tongue felt rougher than usual, and from all this thorough cleaning Geoffrey's stomach jumped and twisted. He shuddered. Jonathan stilled, then looked up at him.

He didn't say anything, but Geoffrey saw his eyes widening a fraction.

Then, very slowly and still holding his gaze, Jonathan pressed a chaste kiss to the tender skin still tingling from the previous ministrations.

"What-" Geoffrey croaked, his throat dry as a desert.

Jonathan smiled and kissed a little higher, right near the rolled up sleeve. "What does it look like? Do you want to continue?" he released Geoffrey's arm and sat back, giving him space. The two-colored eyes were intense and burning with…

Desire?

He wasn't the only one feeling this tightness and hot twisting inside? Or was he just feeling what Jonathan was feeling, like with the bites?

Oh, what did it matter, now. Jonathan knew it was not in his best interest to kill Geoffrey, so this particular danger was out of the picture, at least for the moment.

But still.

"I don't want to want."

"This is not what I've asked, Geoffrey."

" _ No _ , beast. Just… no."

For a second it seemed like Jonathan would protest and make him surrender, but then he sighed, stood up and walked away.

Somewhere around the ruins that once were Manchester, they were attacked by a coordinated and numerous group of Flashborn. And not those that looked like they had crawled out of the fairytales people used to tell their children. These looked disgustingly humanoid but more beastly, their lean bodies built for hunting, sharp claws on each hand and mouths full of sharp teeth. These looked like true monsters with the narrow bald heads and dark bronze skin. For God's sake, they were even wearing clothes! And yet they  _ hunted humans _ like they were some stupid animals.

Usually, Flashborn tended to wait for the sun to rise before venturing out into the world, and Geoffrey and Jonathan were careful about when they started moving; it seemed they weren't careful enough with the trail, because this? This looked like a fucking ambush.

Geoffrey didn't think about the odds of his survival; he had Reid with him, but several Flashborn had that swirling mist around them, the kind that Geoffrey saw only around magically gifted.

He had two last orichalcum grenades; he'd have to make them count.

Then, the earth around them started to glow red, and at first Geoffrey wondered if he was unlucky enough that some Ekon had joined in on the feast. But no, it was Jonathan; he called onto his own magic, and Geoffrey didn't see this one before. Jonathan called up a fucking  _ sea of blood _ . Of boiling, screaming and hissing blood. There were  _ figures _ moving in the viscous liquid, and if Geoffrey thought he had finally gone mad and started seeing things, his doubts got quickly calmed when one such red creature grabbed a Flashborn and bit onto its leg. The bronze one screeched, kicking at Jonathan's… what the hell  _ were  _ those?!

Geoffrey simply stood amid the bloodbath and watched as Jonathan's summoned creatures buried every last Flashborn under their red wetly glistening bodies.

Oh God.

No, he knew Jonathan was a strong and powerful Ekon, but  _ this _ ?

Somehow, he wasn't at all surprised when Jonathan fell to his knees after the fight, hugging himself and breathing heavily. Geoffrey contemplated coming closer, but he was not an idiot; instead, he watched from afar as Jonathan recovered his self-control.

When the time came for the next payment, Geoffrey was worried. What if Jonathan would still kill him? It would be quite a stupid way to go, really. By the fangs of a hungry Ekon. Ugh.

He didn't think he'd ever be this glad to see a vampire drink from an animal. After all, the more it took from another source, the less likely it was to snap and suck him dry.

But the bite itself… fuck, it seemed like Geoffrey got fucking  _ conditioned _ already; he felt hot flames of arousal lick at his insides the moment Jonathan pierced the scarred skin. Shuddering, Geoffrey hunched and fixed his eyes on the floor between them. He tried controlling his breathing and thinking about ugly things, but the results were not as good as he hoped. He still could feel Jonathan's cool lips on his skin, the tongue sliding over the healing punctures and along the veins.

"Have you changed your mind?"

"No." Geoffrey didn't leave himself any time to contemplate the idea. He'd already made a decision.

He would not let it go any further than lewd thoughts. He would  _ not _ .


	8. Eight

The hardest thing about being a vampire turned out to be not the eternal thirst clawing at his insides, nor the danger of getting caught in the sunlight. No, the hardest thing was living through the years and years and  _ years _ and evolving with the world around him while at the same time preserving his core self. And, also, there was the ever-growing risk of getting exposed, what with the ever more rapidly developing technologies and how it became easier and easier to know what happened in any part of the world.

But he managed. Somehow. Yes, there was a period when he thought about distancing from the people around him, for it was so painful to watch them grow old and die - he saw so much death already, how could he bear it again and again and  _ again _ ?

His main salvation from this melancholy was in his work and, ironically, in the people he knew, both mortal and immortal alike. He even managed to become tentative friends with none other than Geoffrey McCullum. Hell, the trust between them became so strong that the man allowed him close to his son when the restless kid broke his arm after falling from the bridge. It was… nice, being part of a family when everyone present was aware of his nature and trusted him not to kill everyone in sight.

He watched the boy become the man, then the father. He made a promise to his dear friend to protect his family, and this was exactly what Jonathan intended to do; of course, the clan of vampire hunters didn't need any special protection, but they still expected him to appear on Christmases and Birthdays, and so he did his best not to lose connection with them. The fact that his friendship with McCullums provided him with a neutral attitude from the Guard of Priwen had nothing to do with it; it was just a nice bonus, really.

When he started to hear whispers of his Maker's song, Jonathan grew quite apprehensive. If Morrigan was waking up again... 

The world became smaller, yes, but the tensions were too high; if an epidemic exploded anywhere, it would be pure chaos. And now that he thought about it, yes, that was exactly what the Red Queen wanted. Chaos, suffering and deaths. Rivers of blood.

**_Would've been a nice view, surely._ **

No. It would've been terrifying and disgusting, just wasting human lives for naught. Humans were good enough at killing each other even without any ancient monsters preying on them and making them go mad.

Right before he embarked on a search for a way to make Morrigan fall back deeper into sleep, Janeth McCullum gave birth to a baby boy. She called him Geoffrey (of course she did, she admired her great-great-grandfather so much). And she also asked Jonathan to be a godfather to the boy. Considering his nature, he wasn't able to attend the christening, but the oath was no less real for him. He will do right by young Geoffrey, just as he did right by all his ancestors.

The search took him as far as Asia; it was amazing how much human's legends intertwined and told the same things, and how the same ancient creatures became very different things in different parts of the world, benevolent in one culture and vile demons in another.

The search kept him away for several years.

When he returned, the world had changed; the Guard of Priwen obliterated, the hunters killed, the clues wiped clean. Nobody knew anything, nobody saw anything. Everyone aware of the supernatural was all terrified.

It was a  _ disaster _ .

_ He will destroy those responsible! _

**_Ascalon!_ **


	9. Nine

If someone had told Geoffrey half a year ago that he'd end up vying for Jonathan's attention with a  _ fox _ , he would've kicked that someone in the face,  _ hard _ . Well, he would kick them even now, because he was  _ not _ trying to keep his Maker to himself, thank you very much. He was keeping an eye on a dangerous Ekon, that's all.

Aaand it didn't help things that Jonathan, somehow, managed to keep his familiar even after Turning (hell, even Geoffrey still had his own), but where Hunter was big and burly and as much a fighter as Geoffrey himself, Jonathan's Silver was… adorable. There simply was not any other word that could describe this sneaky blackish-white fox five times smaller than Hunter.

It was a little ridiculous, really, the way Silver was always up to something; they say familiars represent one's true self… well. Seeing how she loved sneaking up on unsuspecting humans and playing with only those familiars bigger than her, taunting them and then jumping back or around, Geoffrey couldn't believe Jonathan really was this proper gentleman he dressed up to look like. After all, a gentleman would not have Turned him after their fight; a gentleman would have let him go.

Geoffrey shadow-jumped inside the room where he sensed his Maker and narrowed his eyes at Silver, who was lying on Jonathan's shoulders and lazily sweeping her tail back and forth. The fox looked at Geoffrey from a corner of her eye, at the same time angling her head so that it was easier for Jonathan to pet her behind the ears. Jonathan seemed oblivious to what was going on, too engrossed in the journal in front of him.

Pale long fingers over the fluffy dark fur streaked with silver. Elegant and long fingers, so clever and skilful where it mattered most; gentle or harsh, but never callous.

Hunter bumped into Geoffrey's thigh and looked up at him, the dog's eyes too knowing. He didn't approve of this… obsession, but Geoffrey didn't see anything harmful in wanting to have more of his Maker's attention in addition to what he was already getting. If only Silver wasn't so damn clingy all the time Geoffrey was nearby!

"Would you stop that?"

"Pardon me?" Jonathan  _ finally _ stopped petting his familiar and looked at Geoffrey. "Ah. Good evening, Geoffrey," he smiled, and it somehow made him look more dangerous than before. Maybe it was the glint in his eyes. "This?" he caressed Silver one more time, emphasising the gesture.

Warmth pooled inside Geoffrey's stomach, mixing with the thirst that was already tugging from within. He  _ knew _ how that caress would feel. Hunter growled, the sound deep and barely audible, but Geoffrey ignored him, just like numerous times before.

He walked closer to stand in front of his Maker, feeling his fangs lengthening.

Still smiling and, more importantly, still  _ sitting in the chair _ , Jonathan rolled up his left sleeve and offered it to Geoffrey; he'd have to either hunch over or go to his knees. Every time he came for his blood Jonathan made him choose.

Falling to his knees, Geoffrey took the offered forearm and, not wasting any more time, bit down. The blood, cool and spicy, immediately soothed the thirst, it flowed all through him, awakening every last nerve ending and making them  _ sing _ . Geoffrey groaned; it was excruciatingly hard to tear himself away, and only after Jonathan gently carded though his hair and tugged Geoffrey managed to do it. His vision tinged with red and swam a little as he looked into the icy eyes of his Maker.

Jonathan cupped his face with both hands and leaned closer. "Do you want more?" The same question every time. And, as before, every time arousal flared brightly, tightening Geoffrey's insides.

"Yes."

" _ Good. _ "

The kiss tasted of blood. But before Geoffrey could get completely lost in the hase, he felt a weight on his shoulders, and then- a bite to his ear. Yelping, Geoffrey swapped at Silver; oh he was going to kill this sneaky little piece of shit.

Jonathan chuckled and made him look back at him. "Don't mind her. She's just jealous."

"She's not biting  _ you _ when we're kissing," Geoffrey growled. He wanted to say something else, but Jonathan shut him up by pressing their lips back together.


	10. Ten - The Song, 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well.... apparently, I have a thing for apocalyptic scenarios?  
> /squints at the prompts/  
> I sincerely have no idea how a couple of words come into yet another end of the world.

"Myrddin?"

"Yes, my Child?"

Jonathan sighed. He could already see this would get tedious; although it had to be mentioned that his Maker wasn't speaking in riddles this time. Not yet, anyway.

"What are you doing here?" He had several experiments going and didn't want to risk exposing modern tech to the Ancient's presence. After all, if computers glitched every time Jonathan got too agitated, he could only imagine what would happen if Myrddin expressed any emotions.

The vampire was looking around, as if curious. Uncharacteristic in extreme. He also looked not like a bloody apparition, but more like a man, now, albeit his features were too obscured by the red haze.

Uneasy foreboding lurched in Jonathan's stomach. He'd only seen his Maker during the first few weeks of his new life, when Skal epidemic was ravaging London and the Red Queen was waking up from her slumber. For Myrddin to appear once more…

"What's going on?" Jonathan's patience was wearing thin.

"The world became so loud lately," the vampire murmured, concentrating on him and looking him over.

For the first time in his life he saw the eyes of his Maker: palest of milky white he'd ever seen, irises so light they were almost glowing, and not even a thin ring marked where irises ended and the whites of his eyes began. A shiver seeped down Jonathan's spine; for a vampire to have such eyes, it had to abstain from drinking human blood for… for a very,  _ very _ long time. He was never too good at refusing his thirst. The  _ will _ it required...

"Do you hear it when you sleep? The voices and the noises, flittering through the air and getting lost in the ground? They seep under the earth, pool in the darkness of slumber."

"What voices?" Flittering through the air? Wait, was he talking about  _ radio _ and the  _ Internet _ ? "You can  _ hear the radio waves _ ?"

"Indeed. The wind of the humans, evergoing and ever present, now. They learn and create new things and do not realise their very creations would be their doom. For Mother can hear them, too. She smiles in her sleep, my Child."

Oh hell, for Morrigan to  _ smile _ , she had to see something truly horrific.Even more so than the Skal epidemic.

But it was impossible to stop humans from using radio. Well, he could always go kill everyone and cause a total collapse of modern society… no. It was out of the question. He might have had a period in his life when such an idea would've looked quite tempting; not anymore. He was trying to be  _ better _ , damn it all.

"So you, what, want me to find a way to lull Morrigan back to sleep?" it came out perhaps harsher than he intended, and it was completely understandable, as he didn't like in the least when others tried to make him do things he didn't want to do. Like, for example, save the world once again from an ancient bloodthirsty monster goddess. One time was plenty enough if you ask him.

"Alas, my Child, that would not happen anymore. The Song is singing in the blood once more, and the children go out to follow the call."

The red haze finally dissipated, leaving a man clad in a something like a toga standing in Jonathan's office. A  _ horned _ man. Huh, and Jonathan thought those were part of the "bloody apparition" projection. They looked… elegant, and Jonathan could not stop himself from wondering what must have happened for a man to acquire  _ horns _ . Or be born with them. He shook himself; Myrdding, according to his own words, was never a man. He was born or created like this by the Red Queen.

"Do you mean the Blood of Hate?"

Myrddin shook his head, the gesture barely noticeable. "The Song is as old as the Blood of Hate, the Song is what moves every child of our blessed Mother. And as I awake, so will she."

Jonathan hadn't felt true fear for a very, very long time now.

He was terrified.

So much so that even his Progenies felt it and called to him with questions. He shushed their voices and concentrated on what the vampire was saying.

"Can we do anything to stop her?"

"You can prepare for the end, my Child. It is not the first time this happens, nor it is the last. But there is hope for you and yours still, for you are Child mine and have everything needed to live through the reign of our Mother."

Well.

This was not good, not good at all.

"What will  _ you _ do?"

For a second, Jonathan thought his Maker would ignore the question and just dissipate like mist.

"My Champion of this age is soon to be chosen."

" _ Who? _ "

"You will see. It is not yet decided."

And  _ then _ Myrddin, apparently, decided that it was as good a time as any to disappear in a little gust of red smoke.

_ Great _ , the world was coming to an end. Bloody humans. Fools, the lot of them.


	11. Eleven - The Song, 2

But the time went by, and nothing happened. Jonathan didn't count the neverending wars and political juggling of power, those were as constant as human's need to take what another one has. He even started doubting his Maker's words; what if the ancient vampire mixed up the centuries?

As he wasn't able to find any signs of impending catastrophe, he started to believe his own theories. He, disgustingly, grew compliant. He stopped asking important questions.

Jonathan was not prepared to feel a tight bundle of rage, fear and bloodlust from Geoffrey over the link they shared. The hunter was always very careful with his reactions after his Turning, and such bright emotions? Only extreme situations would provoke those.

_ Extreme _ .

As in "End of the world" extreme. But it was all going so  _ well _ .

Hissing a curse, Jonathan went over to the lab tables to stop the experiments. He'd lost enough time already, hiding his head in the sand. How could he be such an idiot?!

It started quite innocently; just a flu pandemic. Spanish flu, ironically enough; it made people believe they got it all well under control, and Jonathan simply had to wonder if the infection was chosen deliberately. The symptoms were mild enough, not too many deaths or complications, and many countries advised people to stay home. Some even introduced quarantines.

And for a year, it all worked.

People lived their new life, they got sick, then they got better.

Then the changes started. First: in behaviour, it grew more violent and aggressive, then came the physical mutations. Jonathan read the reports, he saw the whole picture. It was just like Myrddin warned him. But… what could he do? Nothing, really. Killing everyone infected would not solve the problem, the contagion was airborne. The only hope was that some people would develop immunity. Then…

Hmmmm. It sounded like a plan. Even if he wasn't fasting and, really, was not a very good person, he could still find the cure or, at least, a vaccine or some sort of an immune enhancer. After all, he hadn't really looked at these kinds of experiments for more than fifty years, too fascinated by the advancements in genome mapping.

"Stop, Reid!" someone grabbed him by his shoulder and torn away from the woman he was currently drinking from.

With a groan, Jonathan flittered to a place several meters away and looked at his assailant.

Geoffrey.

His pure, stubborn and impossibly tenacious Progeny.

The main reason he stopped wreaking havoc in Paris ninety years ago.

Usually, if Geoffrey found him drinking from a human, they would fight and then  _ fight _ , and as time went by, Geoffrey started to win more and more frequently. There was a separate, exquisitely sharp and bright pleasure of being bitten by his Progeny, and yes, maybe Jonathan was allowing him to win, so what. It's not as if Geoffrey would be able to kill him; they were too tightly intertwined in their minds.

Licking the blood from his lips, Jonathan watched his Progeny sigh and rub the bridge of his nose.

"Do you know what's going on?" he went over to the woman and crouched, checked her pulse." Ffuck, she's already dead. You're such a hungry beast, Johnny."

Jonathan huffed a short laughter. "What, no cursing and fighting tonight? Geoffrey, whatever happened to change this constant in our relationship?"

The man shadow-jumped to stand right in front of Jonathan, his eyes bloodshot and furious, jaws clenched together. "We don't have a- nevermind that,  _ what the fuck is happening _ ?  _ Why _ am I hearing this…  _ melody _ ?"

Jonathan drew in a sharp breath.

"The Red Queen is waking up. For real, this time."

" _ What? _ "


	12. Twelve - The Sword, -1

Geoffrey knew perfectly well it was a bad idea to drink the potion, but what other option did he have? Get killed by the guardians? Eaten by the lions? No thank you, he wanted to live; he had so much work to do, he could not afford dying.

When he came to the monastery, he thought it would be quite easy to get the sword; he  _ was _ a demon hunter after all, and a very successful one at that. The scars all over his body were evidence enough.

But no, it seemed that whoever wanted to wield the holy Demon Slayer had to go through a harrowing, first. Geoffrey couldn't find any information about what exactly had it entailed, he only got the standard "You will know when the time comes" stuff. The monks weren't even trying to hide that they were hiding something from him.

Ugh, if after he left this damned monastery he would never meet a monk in his life, it still would be too soon.

They measured his prowess on the battlefield and over the books, they asked him questions and made him tell things, describe his experiences and emotions. At some point it felt so much like they were dissecting him that Geoffrey even felt the knife slide along his spine. He barely shook off the feeling. When he went to soak in the hot springs the next evening, he felt a stinging line on his back.

Right over the vertebrae.

And now this- this purifying potion. It slushed around in the goblet like blood, it smelled like blood, it tasted like blood. It was black as a pitch. He gagged, but the monk urged him to drink it all, and he went through so much already, it would be so stupid to turn back now.

The burning in his stomach grew stronger with each swallow, and soon he was curling on the floor, scratching at his skin, trying to claw out that lump of hot coal inside. Maybe he was screaming, he couldn't remember; it got fuzzy after that.

When he came to, he was lying on something hard and cold, a swirling red abyss overhead reminding him of that time a demon decided it was a fun idea to turn inside out all of the villagers.

Groaning, Geoffrey, rolled down from whatever he was lying on and crashed to the ground. Sharp dry stalks pierced his palms, and it was as if they started  _ drinking his blood _ . Jerking to his feel, he hastily looked around, trying to determine where the fuck was he and how to get out. Barren grey landscape greeted him. Hell, it wasn't even fully a  _ landscape _ \- parts of the earth were simply missing, and others were floating in the air. If there even was air here.

Had he  _ died _ ? Was this actual  _ hell _ ? It sure looked like one.

He screamed in rage and kicked at the nearest stone. It catapulted away in a perfectly straight line. When it reached the roiling mass of red, it gulped it like it was actually something liquid. A fucking sea of blood.

Geoffrey wasn't too clear on when exactly he started dreaming, but he welcomed this respite from the terrifying red abyss that became a fixed part of his life- unlife?

In here, he could see the blue sky again, feel the wind on his cheeks. Here, he could laugh and watch his friends joke around and sit around the table, mugs in hand and plates full of food. Oh, the  _ food _ . How he missed the salty crispy taste of grilled potatoes, the juicy peaches, the tomatoes. He'd even eat that awful gravel only Ed knew how to make even less edible than it was already.

He was so  _ hungry _ .

Then he started seeing a tall man in a strangely cut cloak reaching his shoes, his figure alien yet elegant and strangely familiar. At first, Geoffrey saw him only from behind and from far away, but with every passing dream he got closer and closer. As he was about to touch his shoulder, the man swirled around and grabbed his throat.

His eyes burned with blue fire.

Great, a fucking  _ halfbreed _ .

At least he didn't feel hunger as he was too busy fighting the beautiful creature.


	13. Thirteen - Obsession AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, it didn't take me too long to realise I could write a snippet in an already established AU and not invent anything new for a change :D

The next time Jonathan talked him into drinking his blood, it happened soon before World War II, when they both had moved to Eastern Europe; they both were already looking too young for their years and should've moved earlier but oh well. It was a nice opportunity to practice their glamor.

Geoffrey knew how it felt when he tasted leech blood, and he also remembered that one time he'd bitten Jonathan in their dreams, when he was still learning to be what he was becoming. He remembered that ecstasy and how hard it was to stop, how much he wanted it to continue forever. He remembered how quickly they both came that time, spent and sated.. They both had more control now; they thought it would be a good idea. A nice variety to their sex life.

Of course, he didn't have vampire fangs like he did in the dreams, but he had a knife for that. And it said something about the amount of trust between them, the fact that Jonathan allowed him to cut his throat. They both knew full well that if, for some reason, Geoffrey decided he had enough and wanted to kill Jonathan, he wouldn't be able to stop him. Not after all these years of hunting and training and honing the skills. No, Geoffrey was not a simple mortal anymore, even Jonathan would have a hard time defeating him, now.

They balanced each other in so many ways. Geoffrey was even a little afraid to think how they might've ended up if they didn't have the support they provided to one another. It was totally possible that they both would've been dead already, because Jonathan might've started drinking indiscriminately and Geoffrey would've organised his death.

The moment the blood touched his lips, Geoffrey felt a surge of  _ power _ flow through him, almost blinding in its intensity, a pleasure on the verge of pain. Groaning, he pressed closer, shuddering as Jonathan's arms held him tightly, keeping him upright. He couldn't really describe the taste, but he could tell that it was a taste of heaven.

When the wound healed, Geoffrey tried bringing the knife to the skin once more, but Jonathan caught his hand and moved it away. Geoffrey growled and, shuddering, bit the pale shoulder. He felt like a balloon full of energy, and he had to spend it somewhere,  _ anywhere _ , before it tore him apart. He could feel Jonathan's low moan in his very bones.

"Bed," he tried moving Jonathan, but the man didn't budge and didn't let Geoffrey go either. Geoffrey rubbed their crotches together, nipped at the pale column of a neck." Seriously? You want to do it against the wall?" he bit, hard.

Jonathan let out a hoarse laugh. "As if you don't like it that way." For a moment, he squeezed them even harder together, but then finally let his grip relax and instead concentrated on tugging Geoffrey's shirt from his trousers. There was an urgency to his movements, a tingling sensation of  _ want _ clearly lighting up their mental link.

"Mmm. You got me there, leech." He moved away a little, so that he could look Jonathan in the eyes. "But I want to  _ fuck you senseless _ , and I want to do it on that bed." Geoffrey smiled predatorily as he watched pale blue eyes widening, pupils dilating even more than before, nostrils flaring. Jonathan licked his lips, and Geoffrey's eyes snapped to the gesture; he wasn't able to move his gaze away. "Any objections?"

Instead of answering, Jonathan enveloped them in the shadows and  _ pulled _ . Short second later they were falling onto the soft mattress with Geoffrey somehow ending up on the bottom. Jonathan straddled his hips and pressed down on his chest. As if this could keep Geoffrey down.

He helped getting rid of his own shirt and then made sure the same fate befell Jonathan's clothes.

"Geoffrey…" Jonathan tore away from the kiss and gazed down at him with a clear intent in his eyes. "May I?.." He looked so… so soft and  _ caring _ despite the thirst and arousal painted in bright strokes all over him, and Geoffrey couldn't decide what he wanted more, kiss and caress and hug the man or shudder, curse and fuck him.

It was not the first time he allowed Jonathan to bite him in the real world. And considering that it mostly happened only when they were having sex, was it so hard to believe that Geoffrey got himself some… unusual reactions to Jonathan's bite?

Using his lack of concentration, Geoffrey rolled them over and settled on top, smiling triumphantly, but the only reaction he got for that was a raised eyebrow and an indulging smile. "Yeah, yeah, alright," Geoffrey rolled his eyes and moved backwards, allowing Jonathan to sit up. "You know what to do," he angled his head to the side, baring his neck.

He felt so much power from Jonathan's blood that he wasn't really concerned about the wound; it would heal in a minute or so. And he wasn't really concerned about Jonathan sucking him dry, either. It stopped being a possibility as with years passing by Jonathan became one with his nature.

Geoffrey felt the bite, and he also  _ felt it _ . He couldn't keep the moan from escaping. The power inside flared, setting everything afire.

"Oh  _ fu- _ " the breath had caught in his throat as an orgasm, sudden as a landslide, slammed into him like a fucking wrecking ball.

Stiffening and arching his back, Geoffrey clutched at Jonathan's shoulders, shuddering with each swallow he made. With each drag of blood the electrifying bliss  _ went for another spin _ , twisting his insides in most delicious and frustrating ways at the same time. Gasping for air, Geoffrey could only hold onto Jonathan and groan, caught helpless in the loop.

"Wha-" another wave washed over him, breaking up any thought that still managed to cling to the insides of his head. It was too much.

_ Too much _ .

An eternity passed before Jonathan finally stopped drinking; Geoffrey managed a haggard moan. He was so spent his head was spinning, and he was still sitting simply because he was plastered all over Jonathan. Who smelled nice and warm, and wouldn't it be even nicer to breathe it in and  _ sleep _ ?

He could think about what happened when he stopped feeling like he ran a fucking marathon. As he drifted away, he could feel gentle hands helping him lie down on the pillow. Regeneration buzzed under his skin, filling his dreams with bees.


	14. Fourteen - Lure, 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, that suddenly got too out of hand too quickly xD  
> and to think it all started with a simple "how about an AU of Jon turning Geoff into a vampire" prompt from OwlFlight :D
> 
> hmmm is this one a reason enough to ramp up the rating to Explicit now?

Jonathan watched as the hunter walked along the street, his gait confident and betraying readiness to fight that so little people nowadays had. Oh, and what a beautiful human it was; some might've called him a brute and a- a woodsman (Jonathan had to stifle the laugh threatening to break out at that reminder of one of his Progenies), but the hunter was a warrior, and there was nothing more beautiful than an experienced person doing what they can and know how to do best.

Yes, so what if Jonathan was so easily fascinated by highly skilled? Although he had all the time in the world, he had no patience for the mediocre. Most of the humans were so _dull_.

The hunter stopped and looked around. It seemed that he felt he was being watched. What was even more surprising and, yes, pleasing, was the fact that after a minute of scanning the street and the buildings around him, the hunter unerringly looked at where Jonathan was hiding. The man couldn't possibly see him in this dark (and with Jonathan using his ability to become one with the shadows), but, somehow, he _knew_ . Jonathan could see the man _smirk_ cockily!

What a… ohhh, Jonathan _wanted_ to have him. Wanted to drink his blood, to drink his cries, to taste his desire and his fear and to test this confidence against his own will, to _feel_ that hunter in all the ways possible. Fire burning deep in his stomach, part of it the thirst for blood and part - simple mortal want, Jonathan leaned forward, eyes glued to the hunter's face, watching his expression change from confident into cautious into… was that apprehension?

Oh dear, was this man an _empath_ , too?

Jonathan let out a barely audible moan. This was too good to be true. Was this some kind of a trap? Surely it must be, why else would such an experienced hunter walk dark streets all alone?

Concentrating on his senses, Jonathan stretched his awareness beyond the hunter and _listened_. Indeed, he could pick up the faint smell of gun oil and whispered breathing of a group of people, too heightened for them to be mere tenants of the houses around them. So- a trap indeed. The smart thing would be to walk away. Jonathan lived too long to fall for this so easily.

The hunter scowled, sighed and turned to walk away.

Jonathan followed, careful to keep his distance. He would wait.

  
  
  


When Jack approached him about another leech prowling London at night, Geoffrey wanted so much to refuse, to say that he was _done_ hunting. He had a bad feeling about this one, and his feelings were always right. This hunt? It might very well be his last. But when he was told about all the things this leech had done in the years it roamed the Earth… and to think that those were only what the hunters were confident about. How much more this devil had done that no-one knew about?

Geoffrey shuddered at the thought, familiar disgust turning his stomach. One last time.

He would do this one last time. Maybe his sixth sense would be of help here despite it being so sharp and heightened as of late.

Hunting an old and dangerous vampire. What could possibly go wrong, yeah?

Yeah, right. In Geoffrey's experience, everything that _could_ , _would_ go wrong.

As he walked down yet another alley, he finally felt it. The stare, predatory and dark, piercing right through him. Swallowing, he stopped and let his senses spread out a little, careful not to use them in full strength lest he got himself bathed in the beast's bloodlust.

But as he zeroed in on the most likely place the leech would hide in, the _feeling_ got stronger and stronger by the second. The…

Geoffrey scowled.

Lust? For blood, definitely. But there was something else to it, too.

Cold tendrils of fear slithered down his spine as he analysed what he was sensing.

_This was not good._

Oh God, what had he gotten himself into? This leech was not interested in killing him, not even close.

After the unsuccessful hunt that night Geoffrey was very careful with not going out at night unarmed. And if he did find himself out on the streets after sunset, he very deliberately kept to the other people. He just couldn't shake off the feeling that he was being _watched_ , but not once was he able to pinpoint the source. As if the leech was not stalking him at all, as if it was his own overactive imagination.

His guts were telling him otherwise.

It was exhausting. He felt like his time was running out, and it _terrified_ him.

  
  


As it turned out, hiding himself from an empath was a lot harder than even hiding from another vampire. Barest of spikes in emotions and the man quickly got alerted that something was amiss, and oh dear, Jonathan hadn't exercised so much willpower over himself since he was a newborn. It made him angry and, inexplicably, feel younger, feel _alive._

And the more he watched the hunter - Geoffrey - the more he realised he not only wanted the man, but he wanted to preserve him. To make him a vampire. Make him equal. Oh, the power he would have… truly, it would be a first in a very long time for Jonathan to have someone who might be able to keep his ground in a fight with him.

If only the hunter was less cautious and made a mistake; but even this little game they had was not as irritating as it could've been. Jonathan even went as far as to rent a flat not far from where the hunter lived, and all of this just to be closer to the man. He realised it was a little… strange and unbecoming of his status, but who would know? He wouldn't tell anyone himself, and him mesmerising the landlady made sure she would not talk about her new eccentric tenant either.

Jonathan was ready for it to stretch into months, maybe even a year. He wasn't ready to wake up one evening and find Geoffrey pleasuring himself, his blood hotly pumping in his veins, the heart thudding loudly and clearly for Jonathan to hear. Even as a red outline, Geoffrey was beautiful like that, sitting with his legs spread apart, head thrown back and pressed against the wall, sharp pants soft on his lips. His hand moved slowly, but judging by the blood flow he was close.

Sharp pang of arousal shot through Jonathan, and he exhaled loudly. How he wanted to _taste_ this hot blood, to feel this body shudder underneath him.

Geoffrey jerked, as if he was touched by something, and stopped his hand. His pulse was racing, spreading the alluring red glow all over the dark outline of his body.

Then, Jonathan remembered who he was dealing with. An _empath_ . Who, quite possible, could discern most of his brightest emotions. And if that assumption was correct, then surely Geoffrey _knew_ how Jonathan reacted right now. Yet, he didn't stop completely, didn't tuck his hard cock back into his trousers, didn't grab his weapons or do any other number of things he could've done.

  
  
  


The day was hectic at best, maybe even insane a little. Training new hunters, it turned out, was a lot harder than Geoffrey thought. Especially if some of those hunters were women who insisted on him treating them the same way as he treated the men. And that included during the close combat sessions. Ugh, it was one thing to suppress the rare spike of lust when he was sparring with a man who clearly was _not_ interested in the slightest, and a completely another matter when his sparring partner was _covered_ by the orange-red mist of desire.

He even thought that at least some of them wanted to be treated equally partly because that would allow them to touch more frequently. And oh they touched. Geoffrey wasn't sure whether it was his own imagination or not, but it seemed like every second interested recruit was a bit too eager. Well, he knew he could be charming if he wanted and find a willing partner to blow off some steam, but this was getting ridiculous, dammit.

The most important problem was that Geoffrey was _not_ made of iron. It was _hard_ to get through today. Yes, pun totally intended. Really, it was a miracle that he managed to not get caught.

So what if he decided to find at least some relief with his own hand? Nobody would bother him today- well, nobody should bother him today, what with his job done until tomorrow. He completely forgot about that little feeling itching at the back of his head, that small voice whispering to always be alert and cautious. Oh, he got carried away; it was as if he hadn't touched himself in ages, the arousal quick to flare and lighting up every nerve ending. There was a temptation to pump his fist as fast as he could, just drown in the steep wave of pleasure, but he knew how sweet it could become if he only took his time.

He had to bite his lip to keep from moaning aloud and squeeze his cock more than once to hold off the ending for a little longer.

He was _not_ prepared for the trainwreck of a bloodthirsty arousal to smash into him right in the middle of it all. Shuddering, Geoffrey pressed his head harder into the wall, trying to concentrate on what was going on instead of how great it felt to have a hand wound so tightly around his aching flesh. What he sensed…

Oh fuck, _it was that leech!_

As another wave of the red lust came, Geoffrey choked on an inhale and almost wined. _Fuck_ , it was a lot worse than with the recruits. Today's torture paled in comparison to what he was sensing now.

And the worst thing?

_He didn't want to stop._

Hissing under his breath, Geoffrey rearranged himself so that he was fully lying on the bed instead of sitting across it. He considered covering himself with a blanket, but he was already hot and sweaty, and anyway, the vampire would still easily see his blood. A jumble of strange emotions washed over Geoffrey at that thought; part disgust and part… fascination?

He should've finished as quickly as he could. Considering that he was in no condition to stop, that course of action would've been the most sensible thing to do.

Geoffrey basked in the sensations, how his own skin seemed too tight, how tingling threatened to break out all over him. He moved his fist slowly, making frequent stops to wait for the sharp spikes of pleasure to wash over him. At some point he almost forgot about his… observer, he was wound up too much to care by now.

  
  
  


Who would've thought that Jonathan would end up clutching at the smallest of cracks to keep him at the window on the fourth floor? Even he himself ten minutes ago didn't know that. Not before Geoffrey _continued to pleasure himself._ And Jonathan simply had to see the man with his normal eyes, not through his hunger. He was barely aware of what he was doing, shadow-jumping onto the roof and climbing to the window in question.

Low light was not a problem, not when the sun was still this close to the horizon. Jonathan knew what he would see, but he still wasn't prepared enough for the sight. Oh, Geoffrey was a warrior, of that there was no doubt. Only those fighting most of their time would have such a physique, not too big but massive enough to indicate a love for heavy weapons. His hair was a mess, damp with sweat and sticking to Geoffrey's forehead and temples, his cheeks flushed with colour, shirt ruffled and pulled up, showing off a toned stomach with a dusting of hair and pale scars here and there. But it all retreated to the background compared to the sounds he made, soft sighs and barely audible moans that made Jonathan's blood boil with lust. Oh how he wanted to go there and touch and taste.

Dear Night, the next time he caught this hunter on the streets, he would take him no matter where that would be. He'd do it even if they were in the middle of the crowd.

Geoffrey gasped and shuddered, the seed painting his stomach with white, yet he still moved his fist so fast that it must've hurt. He pushed into the tight grip in time with the movement, going even faster. Jonathan watched in wonder as Geoffrey shuddered for the second time and only after that froze in place, hips trembling a little, breath ragged and pulse thrumming.

_Beautiful._

As if he heard the word, Geoffrey drunkenly turned his head towards the window, but, luckily, Jonathan had plenty of time to get away from the glass. It wouldn't do for the hunter to see him under such circumstances.


	15. Fifteen - Lure, 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Be careful, please, his one contains Dub-Con.

How could he possibly refuse when other hunters invited him to have some drinks at the headquarters? It wasn't like they would go out into the night, they knew too much to do that, especially with  _ that _ leech lurking somewhere out there. Their base was safely under the barrier, no vampire would be able to get inside on their own. And they all had beds here, no need to return home in the late hours, either.

It all went well enough until Geoffrey felt the familiar pang of premonition. Something bad was coming. If he stayed…

But if he went away?

Fuck, he hated this aspect of his sixth sense: too many variables made it extremely difficult to make predictions. But what he  _ could _ say with surety was the fact that he was the possible reason for the impending trouble.

Cursing through his teeth and feeling the alcohol quickly leaving his system, as if he didn't spend the last couple of hours getting nicely drunk, Geoffrey got to his feet.

Waving off Jack's concerns, he walked to the room he was supposed to sleep in, where he'd left his weapons. His sword was always nearby, the crossbow primed and ready. Checking the stakes he had, Geoffrey sighed and sat on the bed, slumping, his gaze glued to the floor, his senses wide and searching. What scared him the most was the fact that he  _ couldn't _ sense the leech. It only meant that the beast learned to hide better.

And maybe that was a good thing? Surely if it just continued to lurk in the dark, nothing bad would happen. Except the innocents being killed to quench its thirst. Geoffrey scowled, thinking. Some of the hunters were drunk, and those who weren't were either out on a patrol or had so little battle experience they would die in the first several seconds of the encounter. No, no open fighting for them tonight. Not with so little opportunity to prepare.

But despite the bad feeling changing into something more… benign, it wasn't good in the least. Geoffrey felt… strange. Like he was standing on a high mountain and looking down into the green valley beneath, so beautiful and alive, yet so far away.

When he heard something and lifted his head, he saw terrifyingly attractive red eyes glowing outside of the window. Pale face, high sharp cheekbones, a nose that was crooked from being broken one time too many, and well kept beard.

He  _ knew _ this man.

"Ffuck. Reid, you poor bastard," it was painful to see what the caring doctor had turned into. Oh how Geoffrey hated in that moment the creature that made once a nice person into this monster.

Catching a thread of surprise from the leech, Geoffrey barked out a laugh. Well. Maybe if he got close enough, he'd at least be able to stake it.

  
  
  


Jonathan truly couldn't remember the hunter; it was irritating, that a human remembered him. Especially this human. Knowing full well the risk he was facing, he still didn't move much as Geoffrey opened the window, the hunter's posture betraying readiness to attack.

It was the first time they were face to face and clearly seeing each other with so little space between them, and Jonathan intently looked at the man, trying to dig up any memories about where he might've seen him. Nothing. For all he knew, he became aware of this hunter back in that dark alley some weeks ago, not a second earlier. The man was simply too irresistible to forget, too bright and commanding all of the attention.

"Good evening, Geoffrey," Jonathan smiled, careful not to show his teeth. "Why don't you let me in so that we could talk?"

The man snorted. "In your dreams, leech. Or do you  _ want _ to get killed? I will gladly arrange that," his voice was full of acid and derision, and not even a slightest trace that the mesmer got through.

Yes, Jonathan wasn't applying his will yet, but he got so used to bending the minds around him that he was using this ability almost constantly and unconsciously now. Geoffrey didn't stutter even for a split second.

Such a  _ strong _ spirit.

"Oh, no need to bother yourself. But could you perhaps sate my curiosity as to where did you learn my name?"

"You don't remember?"

"Please. Remind me."

The fight inside Geoffrey was clearly visible on his face, but in the end he sighed, stepped back from the window and crossed his arms over his chest. His scowl looked… fascinating.

"It was during the war. I've got a bunch of shrapnel into my right thigh; it was godawful mess, but what wasn't then, eh? Not many survived with such injuries, and I thought this was the end. It turned out that Dr Reid was doing some kind of experimental treatment, and it saved my life."

Ah. No wonder Jonathan couldn't remember him; all the patients from that time had already faded from his mind, now mere shadows of memories. He was too focused on the treatment he was developing at the time, so eager to save lives he was blind to the actual people that he saved or lost during the operations.

"I'm glad I did it."

  
  
  


"Don't flatter yourself, beast!" Geoffrey wanted to poke his finger at it, but remembered in time not to get too close. It would be bad if he allowed himself to get janked out. "Dr Reid saved me, not  _ you. _ You're just a demon with his face," he hissed.

The leech actually reeled back at the rebuke. Liar.

"Oh, I am no demon, my dear hunter. I'm merely a product of my choices."

"Is that what helps you sleep?" Geoffrey spit out. Fuck, it was bad. He shouldn't have opened the bloody window.

Red eyes  _ glowed _ , the slit of a pupil so narrow it was eerie. And terrifying.

Geoffrey grabbed the crossbow from the bed and aimed it at the leech. The moment he pulled the trigger, Reid melted into the swirling shadows; the bolt flew through the dark mist without inflicting any damage. The leech materialised back together and tsked.

"Is that how you treat your guests, hunter?" He should close the window, immediately.

"You are no guest of mine, demon! Crawl back into the hole you came from before I-" 

"Before you what, exactly? If you haven't noticed it yet,  _ I've got you _ ."

Geoffrey started, panic quickly rising in his chest as he stared into the red glowing eyes. He could see the thin dark rays going out from the center of the iris, he was so close. A pale cold hand was clutching at the front of his shirt.

How the  _ fuck… _

He thrashed, pulled with everything he got, but it was like trying to move a  _ house _ with his bare hands.

Then, the world went dark.

It was impossible to tell how long he was unconscious, the dreams too fragmented and blurry, but at some point Geoffrey grew aware of how  _ exquisitely _ the sheets felt against his skin, cool and smooth like silk. He dreamt of many things, and it was so  _ nice _ , like he'd spent the last eternity sleeping on rocky ground before finding his way here.

Clinging to the dreams, he turned onto his stomach and burrowed his nose in the pillows. The smell made his mouth water.

Palms pressed lightly at his shoulders, kneading his groggy muscles in slow, sensual motion. Geoffrey groaned and hissed at an especially hard push. Tilting his head to the side, he rubbed against the sheets.

  
  
  


It was extremely hard to resist the temptation of drinking Geoffrey dry then and there. Oh, Jonathan had  _ never _ wanted  _ anything _ so much in his life. The siren song of the man's blood was so  _ close… _

After he made sure the hunter was safe, Jonathan went out to sate his thirst; he needed every edge he could take. And, well, he would need the surplus anyway.

Watching the man slowly wake up, Jonathan still couldn't really believe that he finally had him. To think that very soon this little adventure would come to an end, and the next one would begin. Ohh, he was already looking forward to the nights of teaching his soon-to-be Progeny the art of blood and shadows, and how Geoffrey would undoubtedly try to kill him every time they met. How he would have to… to subdue him. But without too much mesmer, of course, it wouldn't do to break this wonder of a man.

Sitting on the bed beside his little obsession, Jonathan let his hands roam over the man's shoulders and back, slowly, carefully, drinking in the view and the sounds and the feeling of the hot skin pressing to his own. Bending down, he kissed the bare shoulder blade, trailed the ragged scar down, tasted along Geoffrey's spine. He felt so  _ hot _ . The smell of blood so close,  _ he had to just open his mouth _ …

Swallowing, Jonathan moved back a little, careful not to breathe lest the beast broke free. Dear Night, he wasn't really  _ thirsty _ anymore, yet it was as if he didn't drink anything tonight. He was so lucky to have found this hunter.

  
  


Geoffrey was swimming on the waves of arousal, sweet and hot and heady, and he didn't want to wake up. Something in the far corner of his mind whispered he wouldn't like what he'll see. He agreed; nothing could be better than this lush haze.

Feeling a slick finger push inside, he shivered and tried to move away from the intrusion, but a hand was pressing down on the small of his back, keeping him in place. Geoffrey groaned and, muttering a curse, waved at the offending hands. He was not- he would not- it would never-

Someone hushed him softly, stopping in their ministrations to leave a trail of kisses along his spine, each caress ending in a shock of tickling and sparks. The grip moved from the back to his thigh, growing stronger, making him gasp and almost wake up. The twisting flames of arousal flared hotter.

He hadn't noticed when, but the intruding finger moved deeper and started exploring; it felt strange, but something about it- the sensations made the skin on Geoffrey's arms break out in goosebumps. And the longer it continued, the more he grew aware of the fact that maybe it wasn't as bad as he was imagining it.

Geoffrey breathed in the warm air and snaked a hand down to squeeze his rock-hard cock. He couldn't keep the groan from escaping. The  _ tightness _ made his breath hitch, and when the finger inside brushed against an especially sensitive spot, it took Geoffrey almost every ounce of willpower not to come then and there.

Tight, almost painful moan spilled from somewhere above and behind in reply, sending another wave of soft needles along Geoffrey's nerves.

"Please say yes," came the feverish whisper. "Please." The words fell like stones tumbling down a steep slope, words rough around the edges with desire.

He couldn't quite place where he'd heard this voice before, too busy pushing back into the now two fingers that were finding their way inside him. It was so much tighter than before, but they were long and they definitely knew what they were doing, and then- again, that spot. Gasping and shuddering, Geoffrey pressed his forehead against the mattress, his own breathing harsh and deafening in his ears, and tried to concentrate.

" _ Please _ , Geoffrey."

Then, as sudden as a grenade explosion, he  _ remembered _ .

  
  


Jonathan felt the moment Geoffrey woke up and realised what he was doing and with whom. He stiffened. It became so tight inside him Jonathan groaned, even though he only had his fingers there.

"What the  _ hell _ do you think you're doing?" he croaked, though not even trying to look back at Jonathan.

His pulse wasn't going down, and when Jonathan caressed the prostate again, he could see the shudder in the broad shoulders.

"I want you to feel good. Please, Geoffrey, say yes." Jonathan kissed his thigh and,  _ not _ breathing, moved back. It was not the time to bite yet.

"What does it matter anyway. You'll do whatever you want anyway."

"I-" Would he? He  _ wanted _ the hunter, yes, and he  _ will _ make him his equal whether the man liked it or not, but- this?  _ Raping _ him? He was a monster, yes, but not  _ that _ kind of a monster. "I will not."

Jonathan carefully withdrew from Geoffrey and sat back on his haunches. And  _ that _ finally got himself an incredulous look of bright blue eyes, pupils blown in an attempt to adapt to the low lighting of the room.

"Are you fucking real?"

"Pardon me?"

Geoffrey lifted himself on his elbows and half-turned around, bending one leg in the knee, completely unashamed or unaware of how it made him look. He swallowed before answering. "You literally kidnap me, strip me of all my clothes and start  _ fucking _ me, and  _ then  _ you ask for my consent?"

"I didn't fuck you yet, my dear hunter," narrowing his eyes, Jonathan tore his gaze away from the tempting display of muscles and looked into Geoffrey's eyes. Desire had its own will now, clawing at him just like his thirst would usually do. And judging by the way Geoffrey slightly tipped his head back and swallowed, he felt at least a portion of what Jonathan was feeling.  _ Good _ . "And I won't do it unless you say yes."

Geoffrey crawled to the headboard and sat there, with a couple of pillows between him and the wood, legs provoticavely spread apart, hard cock dark with blood and not flagging even a little. Jonathan could see how Geoffrey pressed his palms against his thighs. "You're going to kill me soon. Why would I ever want us to have sex?"

Smiling, Jonathan couldn't hold the purr from escaping. "Because I'll make you feel  _ good _ , Geoffrey. Because you can feel the desire burning inside and you know it won't just go away. Why resist the call?"

Geoffrey sharply breathed in and gripped his cock in his hand. "You're a monster," he bit out acidly, voice hoarse. "Fuck.  _ Fuck _ , alright, yes. Yes, beast. And make sure I don't see my death coming, will ya?"

  
  
  


"You won't."

It was bittersweet and sharp and goddamnit Geoffrey was such an idiot, but his sixth sense was going haywire from so much exposure to this leech. It felt as if Geoffrey managed to connect to him somehow, his feelings were so strong and clear in his mind. Perhaps, if it wasn't for that ability, Geoffrey would not have ended up in such a situation.

Arching his back, he clenched at the pillow under him and bit down, swallowed yet another groan back down. The lee- Jona- Reid already had three fingers inside him, scissoring and moving and  _ making his blood boil _ , muddling his thoughts and turning air into something viscous. It was taking so much time already that Geoffrey was seriously considering shouting at Reid and  _ ordering _ him to fuck him already. The idea was simultaneously mortifying and arousing.

When it finally happened, Reid was going slowly, maddeningly slowly. Geoffrey snapped and pushed to meet the intrusion, and then  _ finally _ he was inside. Maybe it was a bit painful, Geoffrey wouldn't know; he was too high and drunk on the feelings. He didn't want to  _ think _ .

As Reid moved him to stand up on his knees and press close to him, he suddenly was so  _ deep _ that it tore a cry out of Geoffrey. There was no time to process what was happening. One moment, the desire was flaring inside like an angry hissing beast, the next - he had a wrist pressing to his lips, something wet staining them. Something sweet and coppery. Geoffrey tried turning his head away, but the taste shot right through him, adding to the euphoria he was already feeling.

Then came the sharp sting of a bite. All this, and Jonathan still moved in those slow but deep thrusts that pushed out all air from Geoffrey's lungs. The sweetness burned as it slithered down his dry throat, it  _ burned _ . He opened his mouth to scream, but the bloody wrist pressed closer, making him swallow even more. Jonathan picked up the pace. And the burning was still there, the pain was still there, but he was also feeling on the very brink, ready to shatter into a myriad of tiny shards, Reid's desire deep in his mind, intertwined with his own need.

The world burned around him, and Geoffrey burned down with it.

When he woke up, the world had only two colours: black and  _ red _ .


	16. Sixteen - Lure, 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: blood play and violence ahead

The awakening went a lot quicker than Jonathan had anticipated. It almost seemed as if hunter's nature was finally let free; as if him being human was somehow against his destiny, and he was simply an instrument of doom when he decided to Turn the man. Normally, the transition took the better half of the night, and it didn't matter how much blood he'd give, the future Progeny would  _ die _ before waking several hours later.

Geoffrey… didn't exactly die? Well, he  _ did _ , Jonathan felt his heart stop and his breathing freeze in his chest. But it took him only a couple of  _ seconds _ to sharpy inhale and grow tense, so  _ tense _ Jonathan couldn't keep a sharp groan from escaping. He could feel the shiver running down Geoffrey's back, his hands clutching at Jonathan's sides, nails digging into his flesh.

Jonathan could feel his flaring thirst like it was his own, sharp and bright and almost intolerable. Without thinking it through very well, he pressed his wrist to Geoffrey's mouth; he didn't have time to actually order him to drink, the man immediately bit down the moment he was close enough. And he was not gentle nor tentative about it. Geoffrey sucked his blood like it was the most natural thing to do, like he'd done it a thousand times already. With a groan, Jonathan lightly bit down on the hunter's shoulder, careful to take less than he was giving. Just enough to complete the circle, to make the link between them spark and flare into existence.

He actually managed to forget about all other ways they were joined at that moment, only remembering he was also fucking the hunter when Geoffrey shuddered, coming, deep growl resonating in his chest. Feeling his orgasm through their connection pushed Jonathan over the edge, too, and he barely had the presence of mind to tear his arm away from the greedy mouth. Geoffrey fell forward, boneless, and stretched out on the sheets, moving and squirming, immediately bringing up the memories of how he continued to pump himself to a second orgasm, just like the first time Jonathan saw him pleasure himself.

Then, Geoffrey stilled, a wave of anguish and horror washing over him, as strong as the pleasure was not long ago. Slowly, as if even the slightest of moves caused him pain, the hunter turned over and sat up. His eyes were wide, lips red stained with red and tempting.

  
  


"What… have you  _ done _ ?!" he croaked, his voice quickly rising to a shout. "Have you gone fucking  _ mad _ ?!"

Black, heavy hate was rising from deep within, urging him to  _ tear this beast into tiny pieces _ . He was…

Licking his lips, Geoffrey let his eyes fall close and shuddered at the heavenly taste. He could feel  _ power _ inside, ready to be used as he saw fit. How could he be too heavy and too light at the same time?

A stream of bloodthirsty desire and- and pride came from Reid, halting Geoffrey's thoughts and making him concentrate on his sixth sense. The very same thing that got him into this mess. The thing that got even sharper. Swallowing, Geoffrey looked into the red eyes of his… Maker.

Oh  _ God, what had he done _ .

He wanted to scream, he wanted to launch himself at the leech and squeeze the last remnants of the red out of him, make him suffer and  _ die _ . But the distinctive smell of sex and pleasure filled the room, sheets smooth and silky under his skin, the warmth and the memories filling him with conflicting desires.

He became a-

White noise filled his head, blessedly cutting him off from that train of thought. The whole world narrowed into a line between him and Reid, his pale skin glowing in the low barely-there light, making him look like some divine being if only you didn't look him in the eyes.

Screaming in rage, Geoffrey jumped at the leech, hands morphing into black-and-red claws, wicked and sharp. Dark smoke met him, and they tumbled to the floor as Geoffrey somehow managed to grab onto Reid's immaterial form and  _ tug _ . The moment Geoffrey got to the pale skin, he slashed and tore and bit, licking the blood and pushing all of his agony and rage at the leech under him.

Reid  _ laughed _ , the sound joyful and exhilarated, as if he'd got the best Christmas present  _ ever _ .

The  _ bastard _ .

  
  
  


Jonathan couldn't believe his eyes. He'd never heard of such a quick transformation, but he  _ also _ had never heard of a newborn, barely an hour old, showing such control over his powers. Not to mention that trick with forcing him back from the mist and into physical form. Shuddering and laughing, he gave as much as he got, eagerly drinking in the violence and the blood and the exquisite, hot emotions that rushed through the connection between them like a mountain river, fast and dangerous.

They rolled and they fought, and Geoffrey ended up on top more times than Jonathan would've expected. Oh, he'd created a  _ monster _ .

Purring, Jonathan pressed his mind against Geoffrey's and immediately used the moment the man froze in an attempt to understand what had just happened. Pressing him to the floor, Jonathan sat on top and smiled down at the fury. Geoffrey's eyes glowed like two swiss blue topazes.

Oh, it was too soon for Jonathan to settle down; he got too distracted.

Sharp, not entirely pleasant pain shot through him from eight, ten different points on his sides. As he glanced down, he saw Geoffrey's hands entirely transformed into claws and burrowed deep inside his own guts, tearing something new with every movement. Jonathan tasted blood in his mouth.

Piercing blue eyes narrowed, and a ghost of a lopsided smile twisted the hunter's lips. Jonathan could feel his satisfaction like it was his own. Slowly, keeping their gazes on each other, Jonathan pressed their crotches together. He relished in the way Geoffrey twitched, clearly taken aback by the gesture. Oh, he didn't know  _ anything _ about pleasure and pain. It would be so  _ good _ to teach him this, too.

Diving down and ignoring how claws tore through his stomach, Jonathan kissed his beautiful Progeny, biting and pressing closer. Their skin was already slick with his blood, the smell sweet and heady, hanging heavily in the air. Geoffrey kissed him back, hissing curses in-between biting and sucking and nipping.

A moment later, Jonathan was flying and hitting the opposite wall, and Geoffrey was already on his feet, swirling mist and swift steps all over the place. He was looking for his clothes, and, considering that Jonathan didn't bother taking it too far away, the hunter had soon found it. Jonathan considered going after the man, but… now they had all the time in the world. He could afford letting him go, for now.

Smiling, he watched Geoffrey hide himself away under the layers of clothes and visibly falter as he tucked his still hard cock out of view. The link was…  _ wild _ . Too much and all at once, it felt like looking at the fireworks from up close. Like being  _ inside the fireworks _ .

"I'm going to kill you for what you've done, Reid." Geoffrey pointed a threatening finger at him, as if making a point. It would've looked utterly ridiculous if not for the rage in his glowing blue eyes.

"You're definitely going to  _ try _ , my dear hunter," Jonathan purred in reply, still sitting where he'd fallen, back to the wall, naked and bloody.

They moved at the same time, both morphing into mist and shadows, hitting each other in the middle of the room.  _ Intertwining _ in so many ways, ways not possible if they were in human form.

  
  
  


The  _ shock _ of connection, flaring and bucking and behaving like a mad wild horse, suddenly going utterly silent and calm was so great that Geoffrey fell down and barely had time to roll to the side as Reid fell onto him like a hawk. How-

The insane sparks and flickering was maddening, and Geoffrey feared it would remain so until his death, but  _ something _ happened during that… mixing together. He felt… better. Stronger. More confident on his feet and in his mind.

He clearly heard Reid purr deep inside his head, the not-sound sending shivers down his nerves and making the arousal flare viciously.

Oh fuck.They were connected now, weren't they.

Not daring to look at- at his Maker, Geoffrey saw a window and  _ pulled _ to it. The world broke into thousand glowing stars, still inexplicably understandable and easy to navigate. Hate and desire mixed into something dangerous deep inside, waking up his thirst.


	17. Seventeen - Inverse!AU, 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from OwlFlight: AU where McCullum is the vampire and Reid is the human - at least initially
> 
> I didn't get to the second part, sadly, because it would've required too much writing and worldbuilding, and my sleep-deprived brain cannot handle a task this complex.

When the Skals started roaming the streets at night, Geoffrey knew it would get a lot,  _ lot _ worse before it could get any better. He talked with his men and they all agreed they had to start recruiting more actively. Even with Priwen growing almost too fast for them to keep up with, it was barely enough to cull the beasts so that they didn't destroy the daylight life. Well, didn't destroy it too much.

Geoffrey was too busy hunting and making sure Priwen wasn't butting heads with the cops to be too angry about not knowing what exactly had caused such a drastic spike of the Skal population in London. But. It was still infuriating. Even moreso, because those beasts? Nothing like the leeches they were used to fighting. London Skals were too far gone into their ghastly nature. If it were even possible, they seemed worse than the- "normal" Skals.

So, Priwen evolved. Priwen adapted. It had a few stumbles along the way, but they grew better.

When they saw a group of men in Southwark, fighting off a pack of leeches and actually  _ holding their ground _ , Geoffrey instantly ordered an attack. Then it very quickly went to  _ hell _ .

He remembered fighting alongside a tall bearded man who clearly had respect and command over his companions- an officer, most probably, fresh from the front. He remembered seeing one of his hunters go down under a wave of a new pack that got curious about all the ruckus. He remembered the  _ anger _ . The rage at the beasts and at whoever had unleashed this horror. He remembered short pieces of prayers flittering through his mind as he let the grenade fly and ducked to the side, to hide behind the crates along with the others.

He remembered the blood.

Pain, tearing at his neck from behind, sharp dirty claws sinking into his shoulders.

He remembered roaring and trying to get the leech off him, the world already plunging into murky not-darkness.

Then it all went to sort of a standstill, with a deep, heavy pulse beating loudly in Geoffrey's ears, reminding him of a thunderstorm. There was a… voice? But it was so far away that Geoffrey couldn't understand what it was saying. Maybe it was his mind playing tricks on him.

He fell to the ground, his left shoulder exploding in a dull pain, and Geoffrey was desperately clinging to this sensation; anything to  _ not _ think about the bloody darkness that was enveloping him in a sickly sweet drum of a heavy slowing heartbeat.

Nonono _ nono! _ He still had so much to do, he had no right to die right at the very beginning! His men needed him!

  
  
  


Only after the voice had stopped talking did Geoffrey realise that it was actually growing stronger and more understandable. Something about… a champion?

Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. Something was clogging his mouth and throat, a heavy cloth over his face hiding the world from him. Panicking, Geoffrey tore at the cloth- at least, he tried to. His hands couldn't move, pressed down by something big and  _ squishy _ . Shuddering and wriggling and kicking and cursing, an impossibly long eternity later he finally got to the surface and took a deep breath.

The smells were so loud and strong- the decay, sweet and sickly, the water, dirty and salty and full of waste, the burning wood… and above it all, the overwhelming  _ stink _ of... oh, that impossible, pervasive,  _ red _ stink of life. Geoffrey gagged and dry-heaved, shuddering with each involuntary inhale, revulsion bitter in his mouth. He had no capacity left to process the fact he was halfway buried in a  _ mass grave _ . He was too busy looking into the black world and seeing red beacons of a horrible truth.

He was-

His worst nightmare. He was living in a nightmare, now. Clenching his fists and seeing the claws sinking into a dead body underneath him like it was warm butter, Geoffrey burned with hatred and disgust so profound, the world turned into a medley of colours and senses and sounds, bleaching into one steady horrible noise.

He couldn't-

A familiar screech tore him out of his reverie. Of course, a Skal. Those were always a given around any fresh grave. Geoffrey looked up at the creature; he  _ knew _ what it was, but he saw only the red pulsing light, fast and completely inhuman, feverish. He let out a hoarse laugh as the leech finally noticed him and wailed, preparing for an attack.

As much as he wanted to end his life right this very moment,  _ everything _ inside him rebelled against a death from some Skal's claws. He couldn't just sit on his arse and let it kill him. He  _ couldn't _ .

Its blood was as vile as he'd suspected, but it took the edge off the thirst and cleared the fog in his mind.

Right. That problem solved, then; his death would have to wait until he finished putting every last leech in this city to eternal rest.

  
  
  


It was strangely simple, not thinking of human blood as a possible source of nourishment; from his very first breath Geoffrey thought about its smell as a stink, and he didn't like it one bit. He didn't like leech blood either, but those, at least, were free game, so he had no qualms against hunting the bastards. He ignored how it burned his throat a little and made him more aggressive and itchy for a time.

First thing he did after he regained at least part of his composure, was to check on his men. It felt strangely nice to see that the group of men he'd died rescuing ended up in Priwen. They better pull their weight, yeah.

After that, things sort of… slowly spiraled out of control. As he hunted down pack after pack, he finally had the time to think about the epidemic, and the more he thought, the more he grew certain he simply  _ needed _ to speak with Swansea. Riiight. Turn into a leech and go have a chat with your almost-enemy who was very enthusiastic about leeches. What could possibly go wrong?

To say that this dialogue went well would be like spitting on a cross in the middle of a Sunday sermon. And although it was a little funny watching Swansea being torn by his animosity to McCullum as a person and his fascination with McCullum the leech, the man was so damn  _ aggravating _ . Not to mention that there was  _ something _ fishy in the hospital, Geoffrey just couldn't put his finger on what exactly threw his alarms off in such a blatant way.

And then another doctor walked in on them, and suddenly Geoffrey was alarmed in a completely different meaning of the word. He knew this man; it was that tall officer from the death group. Wasn't he with Priwen? What the hell was he doing here? And  _ what was this tempting smell? _

"Oh, my apologies, I didn't realise you had a visitor," the officer almost shut the door, but then he really looked at Geoffrey and- there. The man froze, his eyes went wide in a sure sign of recognition.

"Jonathan! Please, do come in. You're quite on time, actually. I think we've just got ourselves a safe way to get you your blood samples. Haven't we, McCullum?"

Why wasn't he surprised that a fresh-from-the-front doctor, famous for his blood transfusion techniques, instantly got tangled up in leech-Priwen-Brotherhood mess the moment he stepped off the ship? It would've been more ironic only if he'd managed to get turned into a leech himself, and oh, Geoffrey would've given  _ a lot _ for them to swap places.

But anyway.  _ What was that  _ smell _? _

"Wait. What samples?"


	18. Eighteen - The Song - Morgan, 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> outsider POV this time

When she saw those two for the first time, she was in the middle of swapping her blue-butterfly postcard with her own wishes for a red-train card she once gave to a boy in a settlement on another side of the country- or, well, what was left of the country. The isle, if you will. It just felt so  _ good _ to know that people were still connected, even in these horrible times.

Of course, she heard stories of this Haven (she was calling it West Haven Zero-One, because really, every other settlement decided they were  _ the _ Haven, it was ridiculous how people lacked imagination in that regard), and about the founder of it. Or, well, founders. She heard stories alright. It didn't mean she believed what she'd heard. And that led to her being there on that evening, swapping one postcard for another.

She was reading the latest wishes, squeezed in a tiny script in the sky above the train, awwing and cooing, feeling all warm and fuzzy, when there was this- aura, appearing suddenly behind her, an almost physical  _ presence _ that screamed Predator, with a capital P, and not like in the movies. Even before looking at whatever had sneaked up on her (why weren't anyone panicking?!), she jumped to the side, getting out of the possible way of attack, and quickly tucked the worn piece of carton into her breast pocket.

Then, she saw them. Both tall like there were trying to reach the bloody sky, eyes eerily reflecting yellowish-green from the light, palms visible, arms slightly apart. For a human, that gesture meant "I mean you no harm". For a leech, it was completely useless and irrelevant, because she  _ knew _ how fast they could move and turn those innocent-looking fingers into deadly claws.

"Bloody  _ hell _ , you're real."

At that moment, she only saw two powerful predators that her instincts were screaming wild about. "Don't show any weakness". "Don't look into their eyes". " _ Run _ ".

  
  
  


It took her quite some time to actually grow even a little comfortable being around the pair (and why wasn't she surprised that they were actually a pair? As in " _ they're together _ "), but, eventually, as time passed by, she really saw what they did here. And from that point onward, there was only one Haven in her mind, all others reduced to just Hs.

It was…  _ incredible _ . They had  _ power _ here, and not the dwindling "we haven't got much petrol left", they had bloody  _ wind turbines _ and  _ solar panels _ . And to think that it was all thanks to a  _ leech _ . Ugh. Not that she had- okay, yes, she had  _ a lot _ against leeches, but who wouldn't, when they were raised on numerous stories of how bloodsucking monsters grew arrogant and started killing people, only for hunters to appear and  _ kill the bloody leeches _ .  _ And _ because the world as she knew it had died along with the millions, who then turned into feral leeches and tried to kill the rest.

It really said a lot about Reid and McCullum, that she grew even a little bit comfortable to be in their presence. They were… different, somehow. Oh, they were dangerous as seven hells alright, ready to punch anyone and anything that might be dangerous to Haven and their people. Sometimes, when she thought about that level of commitment, she felt really jealous, as she was just some random carrier, not really belonging to this place, and, subsequently, not really under the protection of these two predators.

Not that she would need their protection, personally, but in this world? It was either living under a bloodsucking monster, or having a lot more violence and less common sense in the community. Oh, she visited some settlements that looked quite promising, but Haven was really one of a kind.

She'll definitely return here as frequently as she'll be able to find any reason. And… yeah, perhaps she  _ was _ a little curious about how exactly Reid and McCullum came to be. Maybe she'll ask someone from her family; they seemed strangely well-versed in leech history of the last century.

  
  
  


Morgan really, really wanted to hate that horned bastard for making her into this, but in the end it was really her own choice. Either become a leech herself, or die a horrible death. What she didn't take into account was the fact that she was not that far off Haven, and of course she managed to stumble upon the pair ( _ the _ pair from Haven, guess who) during her very first night of- unlife? Nonlife?

She definitely didn't expect them to rush to her rescue. Nor how they froze as they realised what she was, now.

"Who did this?" Reid looked… carefully angry. Morgan could clearly see the ocean of rage under his cool exterior, ready to be unleashed on whoever had crossed him. McCullum was more alert to his surroundings, looking for any sign of ambush or any nearby ferals.

Morgan swallowed the anger and the terror, pushed everything from yesterday into a tiny box and closed the lid. She would deal with this shit later. Shuddering, she wrapped her arms around herself.

"Some horned leech. Appeared out of nowhere, said some cryptic shit about the Red Queen and control and a champion, then made me a proposal that was impossible to refuse. When I woke up, he wasn't there, instead those freaks were scratching at the door," she nodded at the torn pieces of ferals lying around. "So I ran."

"Myrddin?"

"Might be. Might be one of his brothers. Have you eaten yet, Ms O'Hara?"

She scoffed. "Eaten what? I didn't have time for anything, I was too busy running from bloodthirsty fuckers."

Reid somehow became even taller than he already was, and as he stepped closer to Morgan, she barely squashed the urge to take a step back.

"Are you saying," his voice was so low it almost reverberated in her very  _ bones _ , "that you hadn't even a drop of blood, yet you are already actively using the shadow-jump?  _ And _ that you're conscious of your surroundings and able to participate in a conversation?"

"Yes? Well, the thirst is clawing at my insides alright, but I've felt worse when I got stranded in a dead city a couple of years back and had to climb thirty floors up the skyscraper for the freaks to not hear my heartbeat when the night came. Thirty floors without any previous experience of climbing, and more than half of the stairs had collapsed and blocked the stairwell.  _ Then _ climb down the next day and  _ move _ after all that. What I feel now is quite bearable."

Seeing them exchange glances, clearly in awe, made Morgan feel very warm and fuzzy on the inside. Yeah, she loved making shit that awed people. Though, the more she was looking at the two, or, rather, at Reid, the more one strange thought was tugging at her brain.

"Why do I have the urge to call you brother?"

Another silent exchange between the men. McCullum nodded. "Definitely Myrddin."

"You're coming with us, Ms O'Hara. We have a lot to talk about."

"Lead the- oh, wait. I need to go back to get my backpack. It's not very far."

  
  
  
  


The world didn't end after her turning, neither did it start. Everything felt different and the same, somehow. Mainly because she didn't really need to hide what she was, people were aware of leeches (hard not to be, considering that ferals  _ were _ bloody leeches, not some zombies or infected mutants like they loved to show in the movies). It felt strange when McCullum offered her a blood pack. Well, it was a bottle, not a pack, but still. It was undoubtedly donated by someone from Haven, and, quite possibly, it was done totally voluntarily. Sure, some of the locals started giving her a wide berth, but they did it to Reid and McCullum, too, so- nothing really unusual about that.

Morgan got herself a permanent bed in the lower levels of the keep, where she didn't have access before. They kept important stuff here, machinery, data servers, tech stuff, lab equipment. And, of course, a small blood bank. Reid had a fully stocked  _ laboratory _ down here, and damn, no wonder he was watching it like a hawk.

They talked, of course. Reid told her about his turning and what he did to stop the Skal epidemic of late 1918, and he told her what he knew about Myrddin. That it was definitely something important, the fact that Myrddin decided that now he needed a female Champion, considering that before Morgan he'd always chosen men to be his Progenies.

But all this was serious stuff. It more often than not gave her headaches.

What she loved more than that was to watch how Reid changed from a solemn researcher into a fluffy idiot when he tried courting McCullum.  _ Courting _ , for crying out loud. Like in those stupid romance books women continued to ask Morgan for when she mentioned she'd be in the vicinity of a bookstore. It made her giggle every time she caught Reid smiling or kissing McCullum on the knuckles, while the other one was clearly at a loss about how to react. Morgan thought about sharing a few tips she picked up from the awful books, but decided against it; it was more fun just to watch the two stumble through this late onset of a romance.

And oh, she definitely knew it was a late onset; she had the dubious honor of witnessing how McCullum pressed Reid to a wall and did  _ something _ that made him groan so blatantly that Morgan got a little short-circuited before getting the hell out of that floor. Ugh. She really, really never wanted to know anything more about what was happening between the two behind closed doors. It left her eerily off-center and somewhat disgusted, because she managed to convince her brain that Reid was her brother (well, he  _ was _ now… sort of), and McCullum was so much like her uncle Fred the similarity was a little scary, and Morgan  _ never _ wanted to know  _ anything _ even remotely sex-related when it came to her family.

Romance was good, though. It was safe. Maybe she'll go get some more books on that and leave those somewhere Reid could find them.


	19. Nineteen - Inverse!AU, 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have one more of this AU in my head, dealing with their "bossfight" :)

Working with Swansea was near unbearable, but when it was either him or another Brotherhood fool Geoffrey would rather tolerate this stupid bastard. Here, at least, he could also speak with Reid in those rare moments their paths had crossed, as they both were up to their ears in their work (it was an exquisite sort of torture, to try and make out Reid's smell from under the pervasive stink of other people, all the while knowing perfectly well that this wonderful blood would never be his). But what was more important and, frankly, surprising, was the fact that Reid was actually making progress in his research into leech blood. He even created some serums for Geoffrey to use if he ever needed a boost to regeneration or to take the gnawing edge off the thirst. Those serums were actually quite useful.

Of course, it didn't take long for Priwen to realise there was another strong Ekon roaming streets of London; not that there weren't other bastards out there, but as Geoffrey left carnage every time he'd hunted down a leech or ten during his investigations, those signs were impossible to ignore. They had changed the way they hunted, switching to what Geoffrey recognised as the emergency mode: no patrol with less than five guards with at least one heavy and either a second heavy or a Chaplain among them. Oh, the Guard of Priwen was ready for a fight alright.

Geoffrey kept to the rooftops and balconies every time he felt the mortal hunters nearby.

Then, a Vulkod tried to scare him into submission,  _ clearly _ not realising who he was threatening. Geoffrey was happy to enlighten him, along with severing his limbs and burrowing his fangs deep into the thick neck of the ugly creature. He'll make sure to do the same thing to the other Ascalon fuckers after he'd stopped the epidemic.

  
  
  


Somehow, Geoffrey wasn't all that surprised when one rainy night he'd found Reid out on the streets, talking to some shivering fool who managed to get sick, no doubt because he went out every bloody night to warn people about vampires. Bah, it would've been a lot more productive to do this stuff during the day, when there was no risk of actually  _ finding _ one.

Geoffrey glared at the two (and wasn't Reid standing too close to his friend, anyway? No, it was his protectiveness, wasn't it) from the shadows for a minute or two, then turned to hunt down a pack he'd heard yesterday morning. A girl was standing in his path and looking up at him, her head slightly cocked to the side, a small smile tugging at her lips.

Judging by her heartbeat, she was clearly interested. And she was quite beautiful indeed, a pity Geoffrey couldn't stand being close to any human, now.

"What, you're not going to charm me into a shady corner?" the girl jovially asked, though she was smart enough not to get too close. "And I had  _ such _ plans for you."

Geoffrey barked out a laugh and shook his head. "You don't want my attention, missy."

"And why not? You clearly have something on your mind, and I'm sure we would be able to help each other out. Or is it because you're afraid I'll make you… thirsty?" the way she smiled, the way her heart was fluttering in her chest… yeah, she meant it exactly the way Geoffrey suspected.

Immediately, all her charm evaporated. Oh, Geoffrey  _ despised _ humans that sought to gather favours by willingly giving their blood to the leeches. She, obviously, had  _ no idea _ about the real dangers. Geoffrey barely resisted grabbing her by the shoulders and shaking her,  _ hard _ . When he thought about using his new mental tricks to plant a seed of revulsion towards all leeches inside her, Geoffrey felt both eager and sick to his stomach. As much as he hated her inclination towards playing with fire, he had no right to do this to her.

He had to breathe for a moment, because he wasn't sure his mesmer wouldn't flow out as soon as he opened his mouth.

_ Concentrate, Geoffrey, you have a pack to hunt down, remember? _

"Have you noticed anything strange recently? Somewhere to the West and North from here."

The girl crossed her arms over her chest and  _ looked _ at Geoffrey, as if trying to understand what game he was playing. "I have," she finally said, slowly, as if choosing her words right before saying them, "but before I tell you what I know, I need a favour. My friend went missing, and you're obviously up to the challenge of finding her." As he opened his mouth to refuse, she hastily added: "It happened only yesterday, and she had a date with a French Ekon."

"If you know who she was meeting with, then you already know what had happened. I can't do anything for your dead friend, but I can hunt the leech down. Where were they supposed to meet?"

She sighed, clearly not pleased with the idea, but started talking.

  
  
  


That Ashbury girl (why was that name familiar?) was way smarter than she looked. Considering that she knew almost everything he needed in order to find the body of her dead (of course) friend in a now-empty flat and a path of red droplets leading to the culprit, she could've very easily done it all herself. But this leech was  _ strong _ , obviously one of the older ones, the kind that the Guard of Priwen had purged Britain from in the last Great Hunt. This bastard would've killed any human who came asking questions.

Luckily, Geoffrey was here instead.

He didn't consider letting the leech go even for a second. He would  _ never _ do such a stupid thing.

And, anyway, fighting the beast was actually really hard and it was so much fun that Geoffrey couldn't help but laugh and pass on several good opportunities to end this quicker. Ohhh, he  _ loved _ a good fight. Even the bastard's blood wasn't that repulsive - Geoffrey actually enjoyed its taste and the power it filled him with.

It was a good thing they were inside a warehouse, because as soon after Geoffrey chopped off the leech's head he finally realised just how near the dawn actually was. Dangerously near. He barely had the time to drag the body under the clear sky and see that the twice-dead flesh had started melting away. His own skin was heating up, too; if he didn't find a place to hide, he would burn down to a crispy stump.

Fucking great, stranded in a fancy district without any hideout prepared beforehand.

Shivering from the leftover excitement, Geoffrey turned to get lost in the sewers (maybe he would even hunt down some more leeches) but immediately stopped in his tracks and stared at Reid. The man was wide-eyed and a little pale, but his heart kept a strong rhythm. Oh, the  _ smell _ . Geoffrey swallowed. Had he seen the fight? It seemed so. Why wasn't he running away, then?

"You have too much blood on your clothes," Reid came a little closer. "I live not far from here. If you'd like, you could come with me. To wash it off." He smiled sheepishly. "And I'd like to take a sample of that Ekon's blood for my research."

Yeah, that was more like the doctor Geoffrey had grown to know. Always thinking about his experiments, yet still finding the time to speak to a fool right there on the streets in the middle of the night, knowing perfectly well the dangers that awaited them.

And now that man was actually inviting Geoffrey into his  _ home _ .

"You should  _ never _ let a leech into your house, Reid, how many times do I have to tell you this?"

"Duly noted. You're coming, then, yes?"

Geoffrey sighed, licked the last speck of blood off his hand and shadow-jumped to Reid. It should be noted that the man didn't back away from the sudden movement, though his pulse instantly quickened, sending another wave of the marvelous aroma out into the air.

"Lead the way, doctor," and, because he knew it was a terrible idea (he should've gone for the sewers, dammit), and he may have been a bit drunk ( _ was _ it possible for a leech to get drunk?), but Geoffrey smiled crookedly and added: "I promise not to bite."

He could actually  _ hear _ the man's heart stutter a little. That… was promising. And so, so  _ dangerous _ .


	20. Twenty - Inverse!AU, 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, this got out of hand very quickly /sigh/  
> no bossfight scene, alas. Blame the theatre scene for that, it took up the space that I intended to use for some "bossfighting"

Yeah, he had his share of careful circling around one another, he was no eunuch, after all. He recognised the signs, although the idea itself seemed quite wild now. What did he have, as a cursed  _ leech _ , that Reid might want? Apart from his blood for the research, that is. The answer was simple:  _ nothing _ .

He was destined to walk the nights and drink the blood of others until he finished with his work and killed himself. He didn't want to drag anyone into this hell. Especially not Reid; the man was an accomplished doctor, he would do so much better forgetting about the existence of the bloodsucking monsters and get on with saving human lives in a hospital.

Sighing, Geoffrey scowled at Reid, who was standing right near the alley mouth that not twenty minutes ago was full to the brim with Skals and a  _ Vulkod _ . The worst thing was, he seemed very confident in his safety. Sure, Geoffrey would obliterate any leech stupid enough to come close to them, but that  _ wasn't the point _ .

"How many bloody times do I have to tell you, Reid, it's  _ dangerous _ going out at night!" he hissed, shadow-jumping closer so as not to scream across the street.

The posh bastard had the gall to snort.  _ Idiot _ . "I can hold my own in a fight. And it's not my fault that some of those who need a doctor can be reached only after sunset."

Geoffrey wanted to scream.

How was he supposed to protect this man if he did stupid things like that?

Before he could reply, a distant wail of a Skal reached him, instantly drawing his attention to it. The sound came from inside the theatre. Right, of course. The reason he was here.

The reason he had to send Reid away. And why he couldn't do it, either. Geoffrey would be distracted whatever he might choose, perhaps even too distracted to fight properly, so, with a gruff curse muttered under his breath, he swiped a hand over his face and looked intently into Reid's eyes. Hoping that the presence of this man would not lead them to their deaths tonight. The tempting smell was a welcome torture.

"You're coming with me, and it's not up to a debate. There are leeches out there tonight you haven't seen before, and I'm not willing to let you go out of my sight. Now. Don't go anywhere I didn't check first, don't make any noise, don't try killing a leech on your own- no, I don't want to hear how good of a fighter you are, inside buildings it's  _ always _ deadly dangerous for a human to go against any leech. But I expect you to lend a killing blow when you see an opportunity. Questions?"

Reid scowled. "I was actually planning on making several visits, McCullum, I just came by to say hello when I saw you here, that is all. I don't have time for-"

"Make time, Reid. I've encountered  _ Ichors _ on the streets. Do you know what those are? Ugly bastards that vomit acid capable of burning your flesh off your bones in  _ seconds _ . Their appearance is a very bad sign and  _ I'm not letting you out of my sight tonight _ ."

He could feel the time trickling away, the sunrise closer with each passing moment, making the sense of urgency more and more prominent. It really wasn't like him to worry so much, but  _ Reid  _ was here; he was knowingly going to take him into a deadly situation. Idiot, oh, he was such an idiot. Geoffrey knew that he didn't have much time to disentangle the reasons behind the Skal epidemic. It was started by someone, of that he was already sure. Now, he only had to find out who was responsible for this horror. And make them  _ pay _ .

"Alright," Reid said after a pause. He was scowling, looking at Geoffrey searchingly, as if trying to understand what exactly he was seeing. "I'll go with you."

And into the theatre they went.

  
  
  


It was a completely different thing, fighting, when Geoffrey knew and felt Reid standing or moving so closeby. Where he could see firsthand all of the leech tricks that Geoffrey had grown used to using. If this didn't make Reid understand that leeches were lethally dangerous monsters, then he was out of options on how to make the man return to a normal life.

The worst thing was, part of Geoffrey, the selfish part, didn't  _ want _ Reid to get out of this nightmare. And seeing ( _ feeling _ ) the man's heart speeding up, his eyes bright and intent and serious, his stance surprisingly good and attacks short and deadly, Geoffrey didn't really know what to think. So, he pushed all of this mess out of his mind and concentrated on eradicating every last damn leech in this building before going to confront the one in the main hall. That was so busy reciting something that it didn't hear them fighting just outside. Stupid beast.

There was more than one Ichor here, and Reid had the dubious pleasure of witnessing firsthand what their acid could do- one had jumped them in the stairwell, and Geoffrey had no choice but to shield Reid with his own body. It hurt like  _ hell _ , and he had no qualms about tearing Ichor limb from limb afterwards. He bit deep into its throat, hungrily gulping the blood and living through a small torture when the leftovers from the acid still ate at his flesh, while the regeneration, spurred by the fresh blood, tried to repair the damage.

Small mercy the swordbelt and everything below the waistline had managed to survive; the same couldn't be said about his shirt and cloak. Good thing he didn't use any of the gadgets he adored back in Priwen, so he didn't really need any additional space to keep his things.

"This is  _ awful _ ," Reid breathed, eyes wide and a little wild. He clearly was thinking about what would have happened had the acid landed on him. "And these creatures are roaming the streets, too? Thank you for not letting me go, then," he carefully stepped in-between the hissing stains on the floor, coming closer, and before Geoffrey could decide what he wanted, the man got so close that the smell of his blood filled Geoffrey's nose. He barely swallowed a growl fighting to get out. The urge to grab and drink was right  _ there _ , gnawing at him. "And I'm sorry you had to do this to protect me." Then, after a short pause, he lifted his hand, showing the wrist, and added: "Maybe you could-"

" _ No! _ " it came out a lot more venomous than he intended, but Geoffrey was fine with that. "I will  _ not  _ drink human blood. I will not drink your blood, Reid."

"Oh. I'm- I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"Save it."

  
  
  


Doris Fletcher. He would've pitied her if he didn't see the notes about how she planned to infect as many people as possible.  _ Knowingly _ infect them. And it didn't matter that she was clearly on a whole new level of fucked-up in the head, that her deformity was entirely one of a kind and the  _ things _ she could do with that thing her arm turned into… Ugh, Geoffrey felt sick remembering it. And it also didn't help any that she, apparently, could call on Ichors. Good thing Geoffrey had killed almost every one of those inside the building, so the several that showed up were not as dangerous as it could've been had they swarmed from every direction.

The fight went as well as Geoffrey might've hoped; not too many disgusting surprises, not too many times he had to help Reid (leaving him anywhere was out of the question, so he had to join the fray... Geoffrey definitely felt guilty now, dragging a simple human into a fight between supernatural creatures). Yeah, by the end he was quite burned from the drops of acid that hit him, and Doris herself had tried very much to crush him, squeeze or chop into pieces, but most of her moves came from a theatre, not nearly as useful in a real fight.

Geoffrey was lucky she didn't have time to learn how to actually be a deadly monster; if he came here even a week or two later... 

He was jerked out of his thoughts as more human heartbeats came into the building. Judging by the way they moved-

The Guard of Priwen.

Had they heard the noise from the fight and came to investigate? Most likely, considering how Ichors loved to scream.

"Reid, we have to go,  _ now _ ."

"Why?" seeing him handle a syringe and fill it with Doris' poisonous blood almost made Geoffrey scream at the man, but he made himself remember Reid was an expert in this kind of stuff, he wouldn't make a stupid mistake.

"Priwen is here. If they see you, they'll do everything in their power to make you talk about who killed all the leeches." Geoffrey knew  _ exactly _ what his men were capable of. If humans tried to protect leeches, the guards made completely sure those idiots understood their mistake.

He didn't want that to happen to Reid.

Getting out was not as easy as he hoped, considering there were a couple of Chaplains, and Geoffrey had to jerk Reid into some dark room or they would have ended up face to face with a Priwen guard. And, suddenly, Geoffrey became hyper aware of the fact that he was, for all intents and purposes, naked from the waist up, and Reid was standing not two steps away in front of him, his wrist hot under Geoffrey's fingers, pulse drumming quickly so close under the skin. It was dark in here, too dark for a human to see anything, really. Even Geoffrey switched to the red vision. He silently stepped, back first, deeper into the room, half of his attention on the guards coming down the corridor and ready to turn around the corner, the other half on the way Reid's pulse quickened even further, his breath going faster, too.

"Priwen guards are coming this way, be silent," Geoffrey breathed quietly, letting go of Reid's wrist.

When warm hand came to rest on his shoulder, he flinched, but didn't move right away. It felt good, and he allowed himself a moment, to better remember it. With a silent sigh, Geoffrey moved Reid so that he stood with his back flush to the nearest wall, well away from the line between Geoffrey and the doorframe. The guards would surely check every corner and cranny, he trained them too well to miss such an easy place to hide.

As the first one stepped inside, a torch in one hand and a pistol in another, Geoffrey shadow-jumped right behind him, positioning himself so that he'd face the second guard. A heavy hitter carrying a shotgun. At first, Geoffrey planned to just- knock them out, but something inside him stirred, restless from the fight with Doris, and instead of hitting the man hard on the head, Geoffrey grabbed him with both hands and, looking intently into the brown eyes full of recognition, resentment and hatred, he pushed a thought into the mortal mind: " _ You saw no-one here. Sleep. _ "

The man crumbled to the ground at the same time as the first guard swirled around, waiving the torch in a wide arch. Geoffrey dodged the clumsy attack.

" _ You! _ " The cry was so surprised and full of anguish and betrayal that it was almost painful to hear.

Geoffrey cringed, then shadow-jumped again, getting close enough to grab the man by his head and lock their gazes. Three loud shots and a sharp stab of pain close to his heart made him growl and his fangs to lengthen. The guard  _ reeked  _ of fear in that moment. Pushing through the burning pain of sanctified bullets inside his cursed flesh, Geoffrey made the man forget and fall asleep, too. He could already hear people running and heartbeats drawing nearer.

"Fuck. Reid, come on!" turning to the man, Geoffrey found him holding the torch and quickly browsing through a rack with- male clothes? "We don't have time for this, come  _ on _ ."

"This should fit," grabbing a shirt and a vest, Reid extinguished the torch in a definitely Priwen-tought manner (what, they were not idiots to give such a dangerous weapon without showing everyone how to get rid of it if needed). "It wouldn't do for you to go around half-naked, yes?" he looked at Geoffrey with an unfamiliar smile, and oh, how he would've loved to have an opportunity to stop and think about it, but-

They had to get out of here,  _ now _ .

  
  
  


The touch- the  _ touch _ haunted Geoffrey's waking hours almost as much as the knowledge that Doris was somehow linked to some old woman that had disappeared last week, apparently. Not only disappeared, but left every surface of her room covered in  _ blood _ .

Trying to determine where the hag had gone and how much he despised Swansea for harbouring a potential leech inside his walls (Doris, most likely, had been infected at Pembroke, and that  _ meant _ things).

Geoffrey desperately lacked some pieces of a puzzle, he could feel it in his bones. The worst part was, he had  _ no _ idea where to find them. And running in circles was slowly driving him crazy, even regular hunts weren't helping much.

The touch haunted his thoughts, the memory fresh and bright in his mind. Truly, this was starting to be an annoyance; Geoffrey was far from an impressionable young, but why the hell was he reacting like one? Luckily, he was also one stubborn bastard, so when he found himself in Reid's company, he managed to ignore the elephant in the room. He didn't get too close to the man, either. That helped to curb the urges tremendously.

He still looked, though. And Reid looked, too, and they both knew it. And Geoffrey was too stubborn in his denial, while Reid was polite and civil and didn't press anything.

It all became irrelevant when Priwen decided they wanted a little chat with the two doctors. Maybe because Reid was spending so much time at Pembroke lately, maybe because they'd found Doris' notes, maybe because of something else. What was more important was the fact that "little chat" included torture if the person refused to answer the questions.

And the worst thing was, this happened early enough in the evening, so that when Geoffrey went by Pembroke in his now-nightly habit of checking on Reid's wellbeing, the men were already in Priwen's hands for at least two hours. Two hours were enough time to do a lot of very, very painful things.

Every minute he spent flying over the dark streets and trying to find where Priwen took the doctors, Geoffrey felt like his very life was slowly sipping out. The fact that there was no blood trail to follow indicated Priwen suspected leech activity involved, and when Geoffrey thought about it, yeah, his mesmerising the shit out of those two was quite a glaring sign and very careless one at that, too.

When he finally got to the theatre, Geoffrey couldn't help but wonder at this choice of HQ, but it wasn't baffling enough to stop him from doing what he came here to do. Rescuing Reid was at the forefront of his mind, and Geoffrey didn't really have it in him to be very careful or subtle; every guard he met, he put them to sleep, not bothering to wipe the memory first, as it took too much precious time he didn't really have. He  _ smelled Reid's blood _ almost  _ everywhere _ inside.

That could mean only one thing.

Suddenly, Priwen guards turned from former subordinates and good people into irritation and brutes. Geoffrey would've laughed if he wasn't so angry and scared and why the hell was he so stupid and didn't pursue what little happiness he could've had? Now he might not have the chance to do so, and this realisation was unexpectedly painful. So, so painful.

_ Oh God, please. Please let him be ok. _

He gagged as he broke down the door to the basement, as the stench of human blood and sweat and fear and  _ pain _ barraged into his senses, blinding in their intensity. When Geoffrey finally saw  _ what _ the Priwen did to Jonathan, he wished he remained blind.

He was too late.

Shadow-jumping to the man, Geoffrey cut the ropes holding him upright and carefully lowered him to the floor, not bothering to acknowledge anything else in the room right now. Every moment Jonathan breathed was too precious to waste.

Blood bubbled on his lips, one eye was swollen shut and half his chest was still as a gravestone. He barely breathed, the heart was beating sluggishly and unevenly, too stubborn to give up just now but too mortal to keep up with the blood loss and the damage.

"No…" Geoffrey brushed the hair away from Jonathan's eyes and tenderly cupped his cheek. So many things wanted to get out, but instead they clogged his throat. Something inside burned like hellfire.

Jonathan slowly blinked and looked at Geoffrey. He even fucking  _ smiled _ , the bastard. When he tried to speak, a fresh trickle of blood sipped between his swollen lips and stained the beard with a fresh stain of red. And even with Geoffrey's heightened senses, he barely heard what the man said.

_ Kiss me _ .

Cursing under his breath and squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Geoffrey pressed their lips together.

The taste was…  _ heaven _ . He couldn't-

With a groan, Geoffrey tore himself away and tilted his head upward, barely keeping himself from biting into Jonathan's neck and sucking him  _ dry _ . The bloodlust and the revulsion were so strong he was trembling with the conflicting feelings. Licking his lips and swallowing, he forced himself to look back at Jonathan; his heart was slowing down already, his eye losing the usual sharpness his gaze always had.

He was dying. And Geoffrey could only sit there and watch him die. Except. He pressed their foreheads for a moment, then kissed Jonathan again, this time stubbornly refusing to notice the sweet red nectar.

Then. Jonathan died.

Swallowing the animalistic scream that wanted to claw free from his chest, Geoffrey carefully laid him on the floor and remained kneeling there, blindly looking at the space where a red beacon was present only five minutes ago. Suddenly, the whole world became that much colder and darker; Geoffrey hadn't realised up until now just how much his acquaintance (and a hope for something more) with Jonathan had made him hate his existence less. With Jonathan, the nights almost seemed bearable. With him, Geoffrey was not only burning with cold hatred towards all leeches, he'd also had the chance to feel human again, even if only for short periods of time.

Now that life was gone, forever.

Hearing a hiccupping whimper from somewhere to his right, Geoffrey slowly stood to his feet and turned to look at Swansea. The man, normally all haughty and insufferable, was miserable and wrecked.

_ Not as wrecked as Jonathan was _ .

"I- I'm sorry, I don't know- the brutes just stormed-" when Geoffrey stepped closer, Swansea visibly flinched and tried to get away; but he was hanging with his wrists bound to a rope that was looped into a hook hammered into the ceiling, barely able to stand on his toes. He had nowhere to go.

" _ Why did the Priwen take you both? _ " oh, he had no patience for the pitiful stammerings, he wanted  _ answers _ .

"I don't know," Swansea said with pure bewilderment. Even his pulse confirmed he was telling the truth. "The brutes asked about the- but I did nothing wrong, I just searched for a way to stop the awful epidemic!"

"What did you  _ do? _ "

"I simply administered a small amount of processed Ekon blood to see how it might enhance the immune system."

"You did  _ what _ ?! You're a fucking lunatic, Swansea! Don't you know what happens when leech blood gets into a human?!"

The man had the gall to look defiant; granted, it happened only for a second it took him to look Geoffrey in the eyes. After that, Swansea inhaled sharply and tried to squirm as far away from Geoffrey as possible.

"But she became better!"

If Geoffrey didn't fear tearing the man's head off, he would've hit him, hard.

"Do you know where she is now?"

"I don't. But," he hastily added before Geoffrey might do something, "Sean Hampton disappeared on the same night. He might know something. He's the Sad Saint of the docks."

Fuck. Okay, at least he got some answers and a lead, now. He'd already wasted so much time here, he should get lost. Swansea could rot here for all he cared, the bastard deserved everything Priwen would do to him. And anyway, if Geoffrey touched him, even if only to cut the ropes, he'd  _ kill _ him, and it was too quick of an end to the man responsible for this bloody Skal epidemic.

Freezing for a second, Geoffrey truly thought about things he might do to make Swansea's life even more miserable, but nothing jumped to mind. In this, he could trust Priwen completely; they  _ will _ make Swansea live through hell.

As Geoffrey bent down to scoop Jonathan's body into his arms, he realised that the swelling on the man's face had lessened, almost disappeared, actually. He was no doctor, but he knew very well what corpses were supposed to do. Repairing the damage was not one of those things.

"What the-"

Concentrating, he  _ looked _ . And.

There.

One slow, sluggish heartbeat. One rib, knitting back together with a barely audible wet crack.

"Oh God,  _ what have I done? _ "

  
  
  


He hated leeches. He hated himself for being a leech, how could he ever curse another soul to this horror?

And yet, here he was, watching Jonathan's body repair itself,  _ change  _ itself.

His training, his beliefs, his everything told him he should take the stake and pierce Jonathan's heart before he ever got the chance to open his eyes again, and set him free of this cursed existence even before he knew what happened to him.

Geoffrey… couldn't do it. He just-  _ couldn't _ . For once in his life he wanted to be selfish and keep something good in his life. Jonathan would surely understand his need to protect humans, he wouldn't turn into a bloodthirsty monster, would he?

Only one way to find out.


	21. Twenty one

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's little something that truly is a PWP for once XD

It all started in some god forgotten dark alley back when it was still dangerous to get out at night. Geoffrey really should've known better, but- the thrill was quite impossible to resist, even for him.

The thrill of having a leech under him, obeying his every whim, looking at him with those hungry red eyes and sharp fangs showing obscenely from between his pale lips. Sometimes, it felt like an inevitable turn of events, how they danced and pulled at each other and  _ clicked _ , burning kisses stolen in the dark, feverish whispers and roaming hands, cold as the night itself, yet leaving fire in their wake.

When he had faced Jonathan back at Pembroke and got his ass handed back to him, he was too mortified to really acknowledge any of his own reactions, but as he replayed the events later, in the safety of his own room, he couldn't get rid of the thrill.

And so it rolled southwards, leading him to this darkened bedroom, sitting atop Jonathan and looking into his red eyes and how thirst for blood mixed with hunger for sex on his face, making him bite his own lips. A pity, Geoffrey would've loved to kiss the man right now, high on adrenaline and the danger and the feeling of how  _ full _ he felt.

Fingers squeezed his thighs tighter, undoubtedly leaving interestingly-shaped bruises, and the pain shot right through Geoffrey, making the pleasure even sweeter and spurring him into moving his hips. He knew the control he had now was only an illusion, he knew that, in the end, he was at Jonathan's mercy, he knew the leech could do  _ anything _ to him during these moments, and all of that? It merged and mixed and made his blood sing and his cock throb with an almost embarrassingly strong arousal.

Breath hitching in his throat, Geoffrey threw his head back and shuddered. He ached for the release, but every time he tried to take himself into his own hand Jonathan would catch his wrist and hold it until Geoffrey relented. He was so high that he would come the moment he touched himself anyway, so he wasn't  _ really _ irritated by that.

Soon after that, after he'd ridden Jonathan for what seemed like an eternity, the man would tug at the nape of his neck, forcing him to lower his head, and he'd nose at his pulse, behaving in that moment more like an animal than a proper gentleman, and the fear would slither into the mix already circulating in Geoffrey's blood.

He was mad to trust this leech so much, it would be the death of him sooner or later.

When Jonathan growled under his breath and flipped them over, pressing Geoffrey to the sheets and, effectively, pinned him helpless (not any more helpless than he was five minutes before, but then he at least had the  _ illusion _ of control), Geoffrey tried to fight, but he could not for the life of him contain the bright flare of sickeningly sweet arousal flooding him.

He was a stupid sick bastard who would get himself killed in the stupidest way possible. And he would enjoy every last second of it.

As Jonathan settled into a punishing rhythm, punching the breath out of Geoffrey with every thrust, he clawed at the pale shoulders, tugging the leech closer. He didn't care anymore that his throat was in full view of those red hungry eyes, nor the vulgar nonsense his mouth seemed intent on whispering into Jonathan's ear, urging him on.


	22. Twenty two - Serpent and Knight

To say Jonathan was sceptical of most of the vampiric lore he'd encountered out there would be a grave understatement. Some of the documents were simply so far out of the new norm that his mind just- discarded them as fairytales. Not nearly as relevant to his current cause as the details of the Priwen's activities and tactics, for example. He knew it was unprofessional to discard any facts without first checking them, even if those facts looked like pure nonsense, but he had an epidemic to stop, a friend to save from his own wife, a hospital full of patients all demanding his attention and the numerous Skals on the streets that made it difficult to get anywhere without some fight or another.

He had other things on his mind without wondering about that "Serpent and Knight" thing. And anyway, if he had to choose what myth to pursue, the idea that vampires could procreate like humans was a lot more disturbing and demanding an investigation.

When he first met McCullum, Jonathan dismissed the sudden alertness as a natural reaction to the presence of the dangerous potential enemy; somehow, it felt very important, not to  _ budge _ , not to step away from the door before the man said or did something. Jonathan didn't know what he wanted to see or hear, it was late, or, rather, early enough that exhaustion was tugging at his mind already. Perhaps it was only because Edgar had broken whatever they had tightening between them in that moment that they didn't really do anything except stare into each other's eyes.

The hunter had very tired, but very piercing and determined eyes. He looked quite haggard, actually, although there was strength in the way he held himself. Jonathan had almost let his doctor side take control and offer the man advice to rest more before he caught anything nastier. Good thing he didn't do it; McCullum would have cursed him and ignored any advice he might've given anyway.

As time went by, Jonathan was learning more and more about the epidemic, but the hunter had never really left his mind, taking up the space in it as surely as the man himself commanded full attention of the room. Jonathan thought it was because, after all, McCullum  _ was _ the leader of an organisation, the sole goal of which was to annihilate any and all vampires.

It didn't really explain why Jonathan had felt the strange giddiness during his fight with Doris, as if- sensing the hunter's attention, but it was safe to assume the man was present there at least for some part of his fight, and maybe Jonathan was too focused on his opponent to consciously notice, but his vampiric senses still picked up the human's presence. Maybe. It was a logically sound idea anyway.

After that, every time Jonathan went anywhere, he'd sooner or later feel like the hunter was getting near, the agitation of an impending difficult fight instantly mixing with an exhilaration and anticipation, kicking Jonathan out of any train of thought he had been entertaining at the moment. He always made sure to steer clear. He didn't want to fight, Priwen wasn't his real enemy.

And then, they took Edgar. Jonathan followed the blood trail to the top floor without even thinking it might be a trap. Well, of course it was a trap, what else could it be, but he was so sure it wouldn't do anything to him that he got careless.

The lights hurt like hell, blinding and stripping him of all conscious thought for some time, making him concentrate on that strange feeling of another inside his head. Not like when his Maker spoke to him, something more intimate, if it was even possible. It felt… nice.

Fighting McCullum felt nice, too, somehow. It felt  _ right _ , and Jonathan could have laughed in pure joy if the hunter wasn't actually  _ very good _ at inflicting even more pain and injuries. It was glaringly obvious who was more experienced in this kind of fights; yes, Jonathan had his powers, but if he were in McCullum's shoes, he would have never stood a chance against a vampire.

With every new wound, the thirst widened it's maw inside his chest, demanding he let go and pull that human and  _ drink _ . And Jonathan had only so much willpower left to battle two enemies at once for long. He'd slipped, when one of his blows had made a clear cut across the left side of the hunter's head, the blood readily rushing out. The smell, so sweet on his dry tongue, pulled like a leash. He was just so  _ thirsty _ after all the lights and crossbow bolts and-

"Get  _ off _ me, you fu-" McCullum grunted when Jonathan knocked him down and went for his throat. He squeezed the lapels of his coat in an attempt to keep him back, barely holding Jonathan in place.

The giddy feeling grew stronger, like a thin piece of cloth overlaying the burning desire to sink his aching fangs into the warm flesh, making it both less and more prominent at the same time. Jonathan froze, not even breathing, and then slowly, very slowly backed away.

At least, that got him an extremely confused and suspicious glare from McCullum. Who then immediately used his distraction to take out a revolver.

The shot came right through Jonathan's heart, shattering his world in a red torrent of agony. With it, the giddiness flared into something- it latched onto Jonathan, somewhere deep inside, where the bullet had gone through.

He should've died, but he didn't. Just like when he'd shot himself in that dirty hovel on his first night of being a vampire. Somehow, he had enough consciousness remaining to dodge the next shot and dive into the shadows to reappear right behind McCullum. This time, Jonathan didn't hesitate to bite. And again, something inside him shuddered; perhaps it was his heart, knitting itself back together.

Seeing the leader of Priwen on his knees was gratifying and, if Jonathan was completely honest with himself, it was a very heady feeling. Right now, burned and beaten and shot and aching, he felt  _ alive _ for the first time since he woke in the mass grave. Yes, he was irritated at the time wasted, but- Jonathan couldn't find it in him to truly be angry at the man. McCullum simply wanted to protect London, and he did it in his own way.

When the hunter took his hand to stand up, Jonathan felt hope bloom into something warm. Perhaps, they really could be allies.

The taste of his blood remained on Jonathan's tongue for the whole ordeal with Edgar, helping him keep his head straight and not make any hasty decisions. Despite all the horrors the epidemic inflicted, Jonathan was not the one with the right to judge Edgar.

When he finally got to the source, as ready as he could ever be with the antidote coursing through his veins, Jonathan really thought it would be the end; another fight with a powerful creature of the night and eldritch magic, and then he'd be free to choose his path. Yes, he knew that the Disaster was a creature of  _ the _ Morrigan, but to actually expect the mother of all vampires to appear? To  _ join the fight _ ? The sudden change left Jonathan severely lacking in both speed and viciousness.

He was  _ losing _ . And the worst of it: he couldn't do  _ anything _ about it.

But, again, it felt important not to  _ budge _ , so- Jonathan stood his ground, fighting desperately and trying his best not to panic.

The Red Queen was horrifying and graceful and full of malicious glee, moving so fast he was barely able to dodge half the time. One of the swipes of the bloody scythe had finally found its mark. It cut off his right arm at the elbow and not chopped him into two tiny Jonathans only because he'd managed to shadow-jump at the very last moment, not getting too far away, though. She kicked him, hard, sending him rolling across the floor.

The world was drowning in red, his life gushing out from the wound that refused to heal. It was the end. Jonathan screamed at his body to move, but it continued to lie there, unmoving.

_ For Christ sake, and this is the leech that defeated me? _

Wha-

_ Pathetic _ .

It sounded eerily like McCullum's voice. But how could it be possible? Why would he-

A wave of hot power flowed from that place that felt a little off since the hunter shot him in the heart, like a closed crack instead of a solid wall. With a gasp, Jonathan shadow-jumped from the floor just in time to miss the scythe coming down to finish him. And the power still continued to come from somewhere, firing up his nerves like a Christmas tree. Even his heart started beating faster, as if trying to catch up with a living one.

When Jonathan breathed in, the blood smelled of metal and salt instead of heavenly ambrosia, making him cringe and gag.

He didn't have time to wonder at this sudden change, as the Morrigan  _ laughed _ and lunged at him, moving  _ even faster _ now. Jonathan stepped away, feeling like he was only partially in control of his own movements, and before he could start panicking, another wave of pure, warm and sunny power flowed into him.

When his arm regenerated with an astounding speed, it glowed  _ yellow _ . And it  _ hurt _ , almost as if the sun itself had touched his skin for a moment, and, to make things even more strange, he distinctly heard McCullum chuckle in his head.

" _ Now, let's put this mama-leech back to sleep, yeah? _ " McCullum drawled right into his right ear, but when Jonathan whipped his head around, he didn't see anyone. " _ Focus, you stupid idiot, no time to waste! _ "

Jonathan wanted to fight alongside McCullum and not against him, yes, but he never thought it would be like this, both of them taking up the same space somehow, linked in their minds. It... felt strangely familiar. Maybe he'd read about something like that?


	23. Twenty three - Warm

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Something more melancholic.

Between the epidemic, the fights, the rush to find the cure and stop the Skals, Jonathan didn't really have the time to dwell on the minutiae of his existence. Sure, he learned how to control blood and shadows, how to mesmerise and get the answers he sought, how to force other Ekons to their knees and how to  _ survive _ . Although it was quite different from the war, somehow, it was almost the same.

The dread and the pain were ever present. He didn't have time to  _ live _ then.

The first time he had an opportunity to just stop and breathe happened after he saw Elizabeth off to America. He wanted to go with her so much, but he was a doctor, and the Spanish flu was still ravaging London; he had no right to leave those people to their doom when he had knowledge and ability to save lives.

Of course, soon after the life returned to something one would consider "normal", McCullum took it upon himself to stop by from time to time, checking in on him and undoubtedly making sure that Jonathan didn't kill anyone. A vampire hunter, visiting a vampire doctor. What could possibly go wrong, one might've asked. The most surprising thing was:  _ nothing _ went wrong for days, then weeks, then months.

Jonathan buried himself too deeply into his work and research to have any sort of social life, and it suited him just fine; really, by the next fall, Geoffrey was the only person outside the hospital who he had regular communication with. And they weren't only speaking, too. The hunter unabashedly used his willingness to help and his supernatural strength when Priwen wanted to kill monsters too strong for them to hunt down quickly enough and without any casualties.

When the first anniversary of his unlife- of Mary's death- came, Jonathan made it clear to everyone he wanted to spend it alone. He even took several days off at Pembroke, intending to spend them in the darkest of his moods. What he didn't expect was to see Geoffrey; the man came without invitation, as usual, always so sure of himself, always behaving like he'd owned the place.

Jonathan distinctly remembered a wave of irritation growing inside him, ready to spill; he wasn't ready to spar with Geoffrey, he just wanted to be left alone to wallow in his guilt.

"This is not the best-"

The hunter sighed and tilted his head to the side, eyes searching, looking from something in Jonathan's face. Judging by the furrow, he'd found what he was looking for. "I know. Let me in?"

It was… extremely uncharacteristic of him. Jonathan was used to Geoffrey being loud and smug and prickly, he saw him triumphant after a successful hunt, saw him thoughtful and irritated. He never saw Geoffrey this… attentive, this careful about Jonathan's feelings.

Frowning, he stepped aside and watched the man come in. Of course, they had their share of unexpectedly deep conversations and confessions, he was even quite sure Geoffrey considered him a friend, too, but- it was really not a good time for-

He wasn't ready.

Pain tugged deep inside; if he'd been breathing at that moment, his breath would've undoubtedly got caught in his throat.

Jonathan barely had enough presence of mind to shut the door and turn away from Geoffrey; somehow, seeing those intelligent eyes watching him was unraveling what control Jonathan still had. The blackness, not anything supernatural this time, just simple, pure, agonizing abyss of  _ pain _ , was threatening to swallow him then and there. And he was so tired, he just wanted to lie down and not be.

He still wasn't sure how exactly they ended up with Geoffrey hugging him from behind (of course he did it from behind, even now he was careful not to have a leech too close to his throat). He just- noticed at some point those big arms around him and instantly stiffened, rebuke ready to fall from his tongue, but by the time he took in enough breath he felt the  _ warmth _ seeping through the clothes. And it felt like  _ heaven _ . He crumbled.

For a second, Jonathan tried to get out of the embrace simply because he was disgusting and a monster that didn't deserve that kind of treatment, why wouldn't Geoffrey just leave him to his agony and go kill some more leeches or something. Jonathan had a blurry memory of how he threw scalding comments at Geoffrey and moved to get awa- get closer, those arms safe and warm around him, red luring drum beating steadily and so close. It was hard to be convincing when he couldn't see Geoffrey's face. Especially so, when all he wanted was to melt and let the hunter hold him.

Strangest thing was, Geoffrey just- took it all in stride. He helped him to a couch and didn't comment even when Jonathan fell onto it in a most undignified way. But then again, what dignity leeches might have had? And, well. When warmth had seeped into him, filling with that sweet torture of thawing nerves, the thirst raised its head, too; Jonathan was grateful Geoffrey remained his vigilant self, because if there were a living flesh in front of him at that moment, Jonathan would not have been able to suppress the urge to bite down.

His whole body shuddered. Geoffrey squeezed his arms around Jonathan tighter, anchoring him.


	24. Twenty four - The Red Son, -1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one got too dark, I'm afraid. But there's light at the end of this tunnel.

Jonathan never really thought about his need to help the people. It was but a small part of his life, especially after he became an heir to the Red Lord himself. Not that he'd asked for such an honor (it would've been extremely improper, really), it was not his place or, well, desire to be a vampire. And yet, here he was. And his Maker was not a good teacher; it seemed that the Red Lord strongly believed that the best way to learn how to swim was to fall into the deep end of the pool. Or better yet, to get thrown into the ocean itself.

Growling under his breath, Jonathan pinched the bridge of his nose and concentrated on  _ not breathing _ . The smell of blood was everywhere, it felt like, hanging like the ever-present fog over London streets in the small morning hours. So many humans, ready to be taken and embraced. So many red drums, echoing each other in his ears. Begging him to suck them dry.

Of course, he was only human when suddenly he wasn't; he slipped. And, sometimes, he slipped quite spectacularly. When he'd returned to his senses, he wished very hard the Red Lord had never noticed him, never decided to share the Queen's gift. It  _ hurt _ to see the terror in the eyes of the people who Jonathan considered friends.

He didn't have any friends, now. He couldn't afford such a weak and human thing. And it was a fight to keep any sort of connection to his human family when the Red Lord took him. There were  _ complications _ . It wasn't easy. That way, he was just clinging to his human past, shackling himself, refusing to become…  _ more _ .

The irony wasn't lost on him when, after he'd finally found some semblance of control over the beast inside and his new desires, a band of vampire hunters moved into the city, making the lives of every resident blood drinker that much more difficult. If only they had been here when Jonathan lost every last thread of control and attacked his own sister, blind with thirst, then, maybe, this disaster could've been avoided. This and so many others.

He was a doctor before. Now… it was harder to cling to that title with each passing night. What good could he do if all he wanted was to grab the human and burrow his face into their neck?

"Oi, mind what you're doing,  _ leech _ ," a gruff male voice snapped, tearing him from his reverie back to the blood-soaked reality of a hospital full of patients. The noticeable Irish lilt was somehow daring and threatening.

Jonathan didn't start. He didn't move a single muscle, he didn't dare breathe. His fangs ached deliciously, itching for a warm flesh. He wouldn't be able to keep the beast in check for much longer.

Was it all a prank? Why would the Red Lord give him this gift, this  _ curse _ ? He wasn't strong enough to bear it. God, what a fool he was, hoping for something that could never happen. As if him drinking his own sister wasn't damning enough, wasn't evidence enough that he was  _ weak _ .

Slap.

A slight sting over his left cheek.

Incredulously, Jonathan opened his eyes and, blinking away the red fog, looked into the angry face of a hunter standing right in front of him, his blue eyes burning with- something. It was a miracle that Jonathan still managed to hold back and not drown in the beat of the man's heart, strong and steady.

The hunter (and it really was a hunter, not just Jonathan's wishful thinking) cursed when he saw the state Jonathan was in, and looked around, calculating. Yes. If- when Jonathan snapped, it would be another bloodbath, and  _ this _ … this would be too much. It would be impossible for him to claw his way back into his human self. He would remain a bloodthirsty monster, worse than other vampires out there. Perhaps it was his destiny all along: trying to do good and still fall in the end, become the very creature he so despised in his youth.

Swallowing several times just to get his throat working, Jonathan croaked: "Please. Kill me."

The hunter barked a short laugh and took a half-step back, his eyes cold and suspicious. "What, you won't even fight?"

Shaking his head, Jonathan looked at the people around him for the last time, noting several other hunters here and there, then turned and nodded in the direction of his room. "Shall we?" The least he could do is to die somewhere private.

The man nodded grimly. When some of his men prepared to come closer, he ordered them to move back with a single gesture, then turned his full attention back to Jonathan.

He felt the Red Lord watch him from afar, and it was almost enough for the anger to wake up. Almost. Luckily, his Maker hadn't really bothered directly interfering with his Progenies beyond sharing the Queen's gift. And if Jonathan really decided to end his life, well, it was his life to end.

The walk to his office wasn't long, and although the thirst clawed at his insides, urging him to swirl around and jump the hunter, it was soothing to know that his troubled path would soon come to an end. As they took the stairs, his steps slowed a little, and he felt a stake press into the small of his back in a silent warning. It was impossibly arrogant of the hunter, but what did it matter in the end? He'd soon get his kill anyway. Then, as they reached the door to his office, the hunter pressed the stake into his back once more higher this time, closer to the heart, and a strong sense of deja vu rushed over him. It was definitely the first time Jonathan had a hunter so close behind him, but, somehow, it felt extremely, uncannily familiar.

When they went inside, Jonathan glanced back at the man; he was frowning, his eyes quickly darting between him and the room, trying to determine if there was any additional danger lurking here. Still, his heartbeat was steady and only a little quickened.

Only now Jonathan realised that there really were no other hunters present; if this were a trap, this human would've died, no matter how skilled he was. No mere human would be able to kill the Red Son.

_ Maybe he should let the beast have its fill before letting the other hunters kill him? _

This hunter would be delicious indeed.

Another slap, another sting. The red fog receded once more.

"Don't you fucking look at me like that, leech. Now, get to that pillar."

"What for?" Not really waiting for an answer, Jonathan did as he was told. It felt really freeing, knowing that soon it would all end, and he only had to follow the lead of this man. It felt… right.

Surprisingly, the hunter snorted and cocked an eyebrow. "What, you think your nature would just let you die? You leeches will always fight tooth and claw for your sorry excuse of an existence." He took out a coil of rope from under his coat; it would've been funny if not for the situation they were in.

As the first loop caught his wrists, Jonathan hissed at the burning and instinctively tugged at the binding, trying to get free. It held. He tugged with more force, and it still remained firmly in place, creaking a little when it dragged over the tiles.

Good.

When the man finished binding Jonathan to a pillar in his own office, he stepped a little back to look at his handiwork, and Jonathan noticed a spark of disbelief clear on his face. It may very well be the first time a vampire had willingly asked him to kill them without it being some kind of trick.

Chuckling, Jonathan pressed the back of his head to the pillar and stared at the ceiling for a moment. So, this was the end. He'll die at the hand of a stranger, here, now.

At least he'd managed not to go on a killing spree, all thanks to this man.

"May I know your name before you… do your part?"

The hunter opened his mouth to answer but then caught himself and scowled. "You may not. I have no intention of making it any easier for you to overpower my will." He picked up the stake and came to stand in front of Jonathan again; close enough to touch in any other circumstances. "Any last words?"

Jonathan smiled. "Thank you."

The man nodded silently, still scowling, then grabbed him by the throat and hit him with a stake, angling it so that it came from under the ribs, through the soft muscles and intestines.

It  _ hurt _ , it hurt even more than the rope that was soaked in holy water, it was almost like feeling sunshine on his skin again. He screamed. The hand around his throat squeezed with unexpected force, much,  _ much _ stronger than any human could, pressing him to the cold pillar, cutting off any air he might've sucked in to let out the wail that tore at him. Then, suddenly, he became aware of something else in this sea of agony. Someone else was screaming, too, and even though he himself was dying, his bloodied soul still ached to hear this other's anguish, he wanted with all of his being to help this poor creature. But what could he possibly  _ do _ ?

Jonathan feverishly clawed at reality, trying to get back to his senses, to understand what was going on, but the thrashing of his limbs, the piercing pain and the fire in his veins kept him well under.

The stake inched a little deeper; Jonathan could swear he felt its tip caress his dead heart, hungry to plunge deep into it. One careless twitch and he  _ will _ die.

He froze, still screaming inside his head, still hearing the other one echo his pain. Fingers around his throat felt like an anchor.

Why was the hunter dragging it out so cruelly? Why wouldn't he just kill him already? He was so tired, he wanted to rest and never feel the thirst and the rage, never hear the red drums of human hearts in the black abyss of the night. He wanted it to  _ end _ .

Slowly, inexplicably, the pain receded. The fingers around his throat relaxed, allowing him to breath in and groan.

"What-"

The world was still a blur, too bright around the edges, and his chest felt extremely tender and exposed. He was, without any doubt, still  _ alive _ .

"You…" the word had a strange echo to it, making every little inflection stand out, like golden threads in an embroidery.

Slowly, Jonathan opened his eyes and looked at the hunter. The man was positively wrecked with his hair dishevelled, eyes wide and a little wild, and his heart… beating with the same "a little quicker than usual" beat. He scowled and bit his lip, his gaze glued to the stake. The very one he'd almost killed Jonathan with. It was wetly glistening in the light, bright red almost to the hilt. Jonathan couldn't help but wince.

" _ Why? _ " It came out as a growl, hurt and angry.

Instead of an answer, the hunter dropped the stake, took out a knife, slashed at the palm and pressed the wound to Jonathan's mouth. The moment the blood touched his lips, he felt something snap into place deep inside, and he didn't mean the regeneration kicking in.

The link buzzed to life, humming in a low and soothing tone. Jonathan felt the other's mind brush against his own.

God  _ damn it _ .

He just wanted it all to end,  _ why was it so much to ask _ ?

But… he couldn't possibly ask this of his soulmate. The man wasn't able to finish the job before he knew about what they were to each other, and now, after the contact, after he  _ gave Jonathan his blood _ ? Not a chance. It would kill them both.

Jonathan considered lashing out, but quickly dismissed the thought. Instead, he lapped up the remaining droplets of blood and almost started when he realised the wound was halfway healed already. Now, this was too obvious to ignore; he looked at the hunter closer, fully aware now that some kind of glamor was at play.

The man chuckled and let it slide off, revealing paler skin, darker veins and eyes as bright as two blue fires. "You're the third person who knows about this." There were  _ fangs _ in his mouth.

This… explained a lot.

"We need to talk."

"Yes. Just let me get the rope off you."


End file.
